Stray But A Little
by Shonushka Aurelie Sen
Summary: The butterfly effect is the lingering fear that haunts even the most daring time-travelers: the reality that a sequence of events can never occur the same way twice. When Draco Malfoy is the victim of an accident in the Veil Room, Unspeakable Granger realizes that there are two ways to re-enter the past: one way that affects the present, and one that doesn't. But how to choose?
1. At Grimmauld Place

Stray But A Little

The butterfly effect is the lingering fear that haunts even the most daring time-travelers: the reality that a sequence of events can never occur the same way twice. When Draco Malfoy is the victim of an accident in the Veil Room, Unspeakable Granger realizes that there are two ways to re-enter the past: one way that affects the present, and one that doesn't. But how to choose?

* * *

Ginny Potter put one sweaty hand on her head and the other on her hip as she surveyed the disorganized living room with the eagle eyes of an experienced Chaser. Her two-year-old son, James, was hiding somewhere in the clutter, desperate to escape his inevitable doom: his nightly bath, which he fought valiantly every evening.

"James," said Ginny, adopting a coaxing tone as she crawled behind the sofa, "you know Mummy has to give Albus a bath too, don't you? You can go to bed sooner if you let me put you in your nice bubble bath now."

"No bath," came the mournful little voice. Ginny rounded the corner of the sofa and found her errant tot curled up under the coffee table. Sighing, she pulled out her wand.

"Accio James." The toddler zoomed gloomily into her arms and his mother gave him a kiss on his forehead. "Come on, let's get you washed up."

When Ginny reached the second-floor bathroom, she found her husband flat under the tub, surrounded by a pool of soapy water.

"Harry?" she asked. "What on earth are you doing?"

"Albus cracked the tub when he threw the soap dish into it yesterday," he explained, his voice echoing off the bottom of the sink. "I tried to run the water for James and it leaked out through the porcelain. Can you use the third-floor bath, Gin? The maintenance spells on this tub are a lot more worn than I realized."

"Sure," she sighed. Exiting the bathroom, she heard a soft tinkle coming from the fireplace. Harry had set up a charm that allowed the inhabitants at Grimmauld Place to block the entry of unwelcome visitors via the floo; therefore, either she or Harry had to let everyone in personally. She set James down and regretfully decided that he would not be getting his bath that night.

"Jamie, will you go play quietly in your nursery?" she asked.

"No bath?" he said hopefully.

"No, no bath," she answered. James ran across the hallway to the nursery he shared with his younger brother, and Ginny ran downstairs, painfully aware of the mess in the front room. When she approached the fireplace, she saw the faint outline of a bushy-haired witch shimmering in the grate. She tapped the mantelpiece with her wand and Hermione's outline solidified. Presently, she came into full focus, and sprang out of the ashes with a harried look on her face.

"I thought you weren't home," she said. "I was about to try the Burrow instead, but-"

"Slow down, Hermione," said Ginny, taking in her friend's bedraggled appearance. Hermione's face was nicked with small cuts here and there, and she was limping noticeably. "What on earth is the matter?"

"There was an accident at the Ministry," said Hermione, pulling off her robe and hissing in pain as a jagged tear in the swollen skin was bared. Ginny's eyes widened and she summoned a bottle of dittany, which she handed to the frazzled witch without a word.

"What happened?" asked Ginny worriedly, watching as Hermione nodded her thanks and smeared a generous quantity of brown fluid onto her arm. "Was there-was there something in the Hall of Prophecies?"

"No, no." Hermione ran a hand through her hair. "Draco Malfoy was trying to summon objects from behind the veil-we've spent weeks developing an incantation for it in the Unspeakable department, and we tried it out today for the first time. It was horrible," she said softly, closing her eyes. "His body just shimmered and seemed to dissolve-and when he was back again, it was as if he'd lost all the strength in his body. He just swayed slightly, shook his head, and keeled over. There was an explosion, in the center of the veil, and no one in that room escaped without injuries. His skin looked sunken and yellow, and he seemed thinner-as if he'd had a horrible illness or something."

"Is there anything you need Harry to do?"

"No, not just Harry-you too, Gin. The project we were working on is strictly confidential, so we can't take him to Saint Mungo's. We all took an unbreakable vow never to reveal the work we were doing, and there was a side clause that kept us from seeking traditional treatment for any injuries we incurred."

"I don't understand. Why would there be a clause like that?"

"The vow applies to injuries, but its original text only allows for injuries as a special case. Most accidents in the Department of Mysteries meet with instant death, and the main provision is that their families not disclose the cause of death to the public later. If we bring Malfoy to Saint Mungo's, there's a high chance that we'll all break the vow, and it'll be the end of us."

"But you just told me about what you're doing," said Ginny, growing more confused by the minute.

"Oh, the purpose of our work is public knowledge, but we can't reveal the methods to anyone but our families. The vow was worded ambiguously enough that taking an injured employee to he hospital might counter it."

"I told you!" cried Harry, appearing at the top of the stairs. "I told you not to work in the Department of Mysteries, Hermione-"

"But that isn't why I'm here," she said hurriedly. "I think that our healing team has the skill to treat him, because we had anticipated some adverse reaction. The point is that we can't take him to the Ministry clinic either, and nowhere in the Ministry works at all, because every room is monitored. Our work is even supposed to be secret from Kingsley," Hermione ran a hand through her bushy hair, making it stand up even more than usual. "Is it possible that we can care for him here? My colleagues' homes are too small, and you don't use the seventh floor anyway. If not, it's all right-"

"Of course you can," said Ginny. Both her husband and best friend studied her in some surprise.

"Really?" asked Harry in surprise.

"Of course," she repeated. "We owe a life debt to Narcissa Malfoy," she explained to her companions, "and now will be as good a time to repay it as any."

"Will you be here, Mione?" asked Harry.

"I'll be in to look at him every day, and I suppose our healing team will take it in shifts once they are healed themselves. I have other work to do, though."

"What will you be doing?"

"I need to break the Unbreakable Vow," said Hermione desperately. "I haven't taken it, but my colleagues all have-but my going against it could kill them. I've no way of knowing."

"Herm-there's no way to break an Unbreakable Vow," said Ginny gently, fervently thanking her stars that she had chosen to follow Quidditch and journalism as a profession, while her husband was an auror. "You can't-"

"I'm not going to break it. I know it can't be done. I'm going to go back and stop it from ever being made."

"You mean-"

"Hermione, your own research shows how dangerous that is!" cried Ginny. "When you and Harry went back to save Buckbeak, you literally went only three hours back and you changed the universe as we know it forever. But if you were to go back-"

"It was seven months ago that they took the Vow," Harry put in helpfully.

"Yes, and you know-you know that any child conceived after then will never come to be, and so much could be changed, and doing this could mean your death for all you know..."

"I wouldn't even think of doing this if I believed that," said Hermione, falling onto the sofa in exhaustion.

"What do you mean?" asked Harry warily. "And be careful about what you tell us..."

"Don't worry. This is my individual research, I'm not endangering my colleagues at all. There are two effects when we go back in time. Either we always went back in time-that is, the past already had us from the present in it, or-"

"Our third year!" said Harry excitedly. "Even before we went back in time, our future selves were there. Buckbeak never died at all. We didn't change time. We had always been meant, I suppose, to go back."

"Exactly. We didn't change time. We traveled in time, to be sure, but that's the sequence of events that took place in all possible dimensions. However, it is possible to change time, by going back when you weren't there before. As to that sort of paradox, it's usually only illustrated in situations where wizards ended up killing their past or future selves by mistake. Otherwise, time is changed entirely and only the traveler remembers the original universe at all."

"So you're saying that if the butterfly effect has happened, we would have no way of knowing?" said Ginny, furrowing her brow.

"Exactly. If I go back in time, and stop Malfoy and the others from taking the vow-"

"That'll be changing time, surely," said Harry. "After all, he has taken the vow, and you know that's a fact. If you stop it from happening, you'll be changing time, and there's no knowing what will happen."

"If you were to go back and stop it from happening," said Ginny, thinking furiously, "you would be sure to leave a cover story of sorts, so no one would know the vow had never been taken."

"Yes..." said Hermione slowly, beginning to see what Ginny was aiming at.

"You can't know whether the Vow they took was legitimate," Harry realized. "Maybe you've already gone back in time and stopped the Vow from happening. And maybe you haven't. If you did, you have to go again. And if you didn't, going will mean you'll be changing time."

"It's your choice, Hermione," said Ginny softly, looking up as James toddled down the stairs and crept towards them guiltily. "What's the matter, Jamie?"

"Bwoke Al's wattle," whimpered James. "Didn't mean, Mummmy, pwomise."

"I'll get it," Harry offered, bundling the sleepy tot into his arms and whisking him upstairs.

"We'll never know, and never feel the loss of anything you change," said Ginny sadly, going over the events of the last seven months in her mind and wondering if there was anything she would miss. She thanked Heaven that both her boys had been before then. "If you feel you must, then you must, Hermione. You owe it to Malfoy, anyway. Or we do. If he dies because of this, and we could have done something-"

"And Narcissa Malfoy would suffer anything to make sure her son was alright," said Hermione softly, curling up in a corner of the sofa. "Exactly." She shook herself and rose from her seat. "He's at Frisham's flat for tonight; is it all right if I have him moved here tomorrow morning around half-past nine?"

"Yes, I'll be up, I won't start on my stories until noon, Harry will have gone, and the boys will still be asleep," said Ginny, calculating with the practiced acuity of a harried mother. "I'll get Flippy to have the attic ready." Flippy was the Potters' house elf, who served as a playmate for James and Albus when their parents were busy more than anything else.

"Will you let Ron and the rest know I won't be coming to the family dinner tomorrow?" said Hermione apologetically. "You two can go on, we'll look after things here."

"Yeah. My brothers really have missed you, you've been so busy," said Ginny with a chuckle. "When do you mean to procure a time-turner strong enough to go back seven months?"

"I'll have to check the records to see what combination of time-turners I need," said Hermione. "Is it all right if I sleep here tonight, Ginny?"

"Of course," said Ginny. A thought crossed her mind and she sprang up with an oath. "You've been here for so long and I haven't even offered you supper. It's not much, just French onion soup with garlic bread and some baked apples, but-"

"That sounds wonderful," said Hermione with an exhausted smile. As Ginny jogged toward the kitchen, she tucked her head into the sofa and closed her eyes.

She was asleep before Ginny returned with the soup two minutes later.


	2. Neither Here Nor There

Stray But A Little Chapter 2

Neither Here Nor There

* * *

"We truly appreciate you offering us your home to care for Mr. Malfoy, Mr. and Mrs. Potter," said a thickly bearded Unspeakable, as he stood in the kitchen drinking the coffee that Harry had pressed upon Hermione's whole team.

"Oh, it was no trouble," said Ginny, slightly bewildered by the assortment of people tiptoeing up and down the stairs of her house, levitating bottles of potions up to the soon-to-be sickroom, carrying down the clutter stored in the attic, rushing hither and yon with bags of medical instruments, and transporting strange, spindly contraptions that released colored smoke every few moments. Both she and Harry were uncomfortably aware that they stood on the brink of something they would never fully understand, but that they would be involved with it either way.

"What time will he be getting here again?" asked a young woman with an elegant bob. She clutched her cup with fingers that did not tremble, and there was a steely glint in her eye that surpassed the determined looks of the eleven other members of the team gathered in the kitchen. This was Proserpina Frisham, Hermione's squad partner.

"Granger should be arriving at nine, or thereabouts," said the bearded man, draining his cup and cleaning it with a softly muttered spell. At that moment, the fireplace tinkled softly and he nodded at the Potters, who had drawn together anxiously near the kitchen table. Harry's arm was curled protectively around Ginny's shoulders; he had refused to leave her alone to deal with the melee, preferring to remain and oversee the goings-on at home.

"I'll get it," Proserpina offered, and hurried to the mantelpiece. After she tapped it twice with her wand, Hermione appeared-and behind her was the gaunt, unconscious form of Draco Malfoy, dressed in pajamas two sizes too big for him (presumably those of the bearded Unspeakable) and suspended in midair.

"Harry, Ginny," she said, nodding at them. They both smiled, reassured by her presence.

"I'll be levitating him up straightaway," Hermione informed the gathered twelve Unspeakables. They made no reply, but followed her in a silent single file as she mounted the steps to the seventh floor with Malfoy floating eerily before her. Harry, standing at the foot of the stairs, thought that the line looked ominously like a funeral procession.

However, curiosity soon got the better of the Potter couple, and they ran up behind the Unspeakables just in time to see Hermione lowering Malfoy onto the bed and Proserpina lighting all the lamps in the room with a small device that looked suspiciously like a golden Deluminator. A crate full of potion bottles emptied itself, and the contents lined up neatly on an old sideboard, freshly dusted by the cleaning charms Ginny had cast the night before. Two of the robed Unspeakables took their places by the door (guarding it, as Harry realized) one went to the desk in the corner, and one stationed himself at Malfoy's bedside.

"I'll have to ask that you two not come up here," said the bearded man apologetically. "It won't be safe for you. Our magical signatures are in precarious condition after the accident, and the automatic wards on the items on this room might endanger you if you come too close."

"No, that's all right," said Harry. "We weren't using the attic anyway."

"The children?" asked Ginny suddenly, her face draining of color. "If they happen to climb up here?"

"Al can't walk, Ginny," Harry reminded her. "And James' nursery is four floors below the attic."

"You know he climbs two flights at a time on occasion," she countered.

"It doesn't matter either way," Proserpina interrupted. "They're too young to have a signature. Even if they were to wander into the room itself, they'd be fine."

"If you're sure..." muttered Ginny dubiously, retreating downstairs to begin her daily Quidditch story.

* * *

Hermione sat in her office. The fire had gone out long ago; she was waiting for a visit from Proserpina before she departed.

"Unspeakable Granger?"

The soft voice wafted out of the grate, and Hermione opened the fireplace long enough for Proserpina to shoot out into the hearth.

"How is he, Proserpina?"

"Hermione," sighed Proserpina, "I know what you're doing."

She froze, looking at her visitor as if she had grown a second head.

"How did you know?"

"I checked the visitor's log in the department library, Hermione." said Proserpina, sitting down beside her astonished friend and pushing a warm scone into her hands. "Here, eat. You'll feel better."

"It's one of Molly's," said Hermione, looking at the fluffy blueberry scone with a smile. "Did you stop by the Burrow?" Proserpina was Charlie's fiancée, and often spent her free mornings baking with Mrs. Weasley in the crowded and comfortable kitchen at the Burrow. Proserpina nodded.

"Molly knows there was an accident at work. Ginny sent her a floo to explain why she and Harry couldn't come to the family breakfast today. She doesn't know what happened, though. Mrs. Potter didn't tell her. But back to business...I know you're trying to go back in time to stop Draco from taking the Unbreakable Vow."

"What do you want me to say, Frisham?" asked Hermione, reverting to the general public's universal habit of addressing her friend by her last name.

Frisham sent Hermione a sympathetic look. "I'd like to hear the confirmation from your own mouth, if it's at all possible."

"You're right, of course. But after seeing Malfoy this way...Frisham, we didn't know what we were dealing with when we began working on the veil. If we had..."

Frisham shuddered.

Hermione and Frisham were both research heads for the department, a job that they both enjoyed immensely. They had traveled the entire world, seeking ancient and modern texts to aid the Department of Mysteries, and learned more than they could have dreamed of on their journeys.

The previous December, the pair had been working at Bill Weasley's old base in Egypt, accompanying a wizarding party that had just detected a previously undiscovered tomb. Neither had expected the tomb to possess anything unique, but they found the objects and papyrus scrolls within fascinating all the same. They had both learned how to read hieroglyphics during their N.E.W.T. courses in Ancient Runes, and had found an hidden alcove filled with neatly stacked and filed scrolls, all of them over six thousand years old. A skeleton lay nearby, a scroll clutched between the third and fourth fingers of its left hand. The ancient library had been warded with a powerful curse; after analyzing the skeleton, the forensic team and a squad of curse-breakers had determined that it was a nasty variant of the flesh-eating curse, and possibly even its predecessor-an instantaneous brain-eating curse. Once the curse-breakers had removed it, Hermione and Frisham had ventured in to touch the scrolls.

Later that week, the two women had flown (via Muggle airlines) back to England, carrying trunks of scrolls with them. They had spent three weeks translating them, and had filed their work in the Department of Mysteries' extensive library. Frisham had dispatched the originals to the National Egyptian Museum, and then they had set to work and read the translations from start to finish. One set of scrolls had suggested the existence of multiple veiled arches throughout the world, which led to alternate dimensions in which different frames of time and space were interconnected. The text went on to say that Cleopatra Philopator (long-known by the wizarding world to have been a sorceress) had ordered them all destroyed the same year in which the tomb was sealed, save three. One remained in Egypt; Frisham had already known that the Roman warlocks leveled it thirteen years later. The second was transported "to a land of the far north."

 _A Wizarding History of the Second World War_ revealed that an unknown magical object had protected a group of Jewish rabbis in 1943; they had charmed it to Vanish itself seconds after they stepped through it. Hermione suspected that this was, most likely, the second Veiled Arch mentioned in the texts from the tomb. The Egyptian texts were unclear about the fate of the third and final. No other reference to a Veiled Arch had been found, and the one currently residing in the Ministry had, it was said, been created by Merlin himself during a failed experiment. It had been housed by a prominent royal family-descendants of Morgana, according to the popular belief of the 1500s. Eventually, the Arch was left to the Ministry's care in 1632, and it had remained in the Department of Mysteries ever since. What Hermione and Frisham had been able to gather came from one cryptic poem at the end of the very last scroll.

 _Thy last and finest shall not be laid away to wither for the whims of the Fair, nor yet for the sake of the Strong; at the command of the Pharaoh, it shall take a journey of many shifting moons to rest amongst those who will come to realize its weight._

Of course, they could not be sure what the words might have meant in the spoken language of the Ancient Egyptians. Frisham had guessed that the journey of many shifting moons referred to a lengthy water crossing, perhaps to Britain, althought there was no evidence to suggest that the ancient Egyptian wizards had ever ventured that far or even known of Britain's existence. Hermione had a suspicion that the Pharaoh's Command was far more than a verbal command given by Cleopatra herself; it was more likely a powerful sort of Banishing Spell-or the opposite of the Summoning Charm, capable of sending objects across great distances to come to rest at a predetermined location.

"Those who will come to realize its weight" could only refer to another society of wizards, probably a society that the ancient Egyptians had believed to possess an inferior culture. This immediately ruled out most other African wizarding nations and all of the Asian republics which had an established community of warlocks at the time the scroll was written. This left either the Americas or Britain, as the journey had almost certainly involved a water crossing.

It had certainly followed to reason that the last and most powerful Veiled Arch was the one in the deepest levels of the Ministry-coincidentally, the arch was known to be the only one remaining in the world.

When the Unspeakables had viewed their research and discussed their conclusions, they had asked Hermione and Frisham to become honorary Unspeakables for the project they had been working on for the past two years. Whether by design or unintentionally, the head of the department, Unspeakable Croaker, had not asked them to take an Unbreakable Vow never to discuss their work outside the department. He had been satisfied with a simple Wizard's Oath, which carried with it only the weight of honor-no magical entailments at all. Even then, Hermione and Frisham had only been involved with research and experimentation; they had never met with the entire Unspeakable squad at once. They had been present during Draco Malfoy's deadly experiment-when he had tried to recall a green apple he had thrown into the veil from the dimension into which it had gone. Frisham had thrown herself out of the path of the blast that had followed, but Hermione had remained rooted to the spot, unable to run, staring in horror as Draco Malfoy flickered out of existence and back into being again. She had been the first to rush down toward him, even before the room was still again, and had seen his features change as if death itself had visited him in the moment that he had been invisible to them all.

And that was how she and Frisham came to sit together in her living room that day in the June of 2003, crying quietly at the thought that their curiosity had inadvertently caused the entire debacle.

* * *

"Hermione."

"Five more minutes, Mum," she murmured, rolling over. "Just-"

"Hermione, it's Frisham."

Hermione opened her eyes at looked confusedly about her. Indeed, Frisham's face hovered above her, her iron-grey eyes shadowed with blue and purple smudges.

"What's the time?" asked Hermione, pulling her cheek away from the book she had fallen asleep on.

"Seven, but you've found it," said Frisham, pointing to the neat sheaf of notes on the table beside Hermione's corner of the sofa.

"Yes, but I didn't want to wake you," said Hermione. She pulled the stack of papers to her and lifted one sheet of parchment from the bottom of the pile.

"You've calculated how far back we'll need to go to stop this from happening?"

"We'll need to go back two years, to be completely sure. The Ministry " she replied, exhaustion evident in every aspect of her tone. "The trouble is, we can't know if we'll be changing time by going back. We might, or we might not."

"I think we will be," said Frisham. She sat down with a bump on the couch and moodily attacked a bowl of cold pasta she had pried out of Hermione's refrigerator. "We'd have left clues for our past selves if we had, or told them outright so we'd have known we had to go back again."

"Your pronoun usage is off," Hermione said wryly, helping herself to another buttered scone. "Are you referring to us in the past, us in the present, or us in the future?"

"It's time-travel, Granger, everything's going to be off," Frisham retorted. "Anyhow, will we do it? That's the question."

There was a tacit agreement between the two girls that neither of them would remain in the present. They had begun their venture together, and would both embark on the journey to right its effects together.

"I think so," said Hermione. She raised her head and looked at Frisham, stricken; a thought had just occurred to her.

"What's the matter?"

"Albus?"

"The Potters' younger son? What about him? He's a little over a year old, isn't he?"

"If we go back...he'll never be born. Harry and Ginny would never know the difference, but I can't betray their trust and take Al away from them."

"How old is he, in months?"

"He was born in May 2002," said Hermione. "So he must have been conceived in July to August of 2001. That's about a month to two months shorter than two years...What if Draco took the vow before then?"

"We can't go back that far, of course. But, even so...It all depends on whether we've already gone," Frisham pounded her fists in frustration. "But for Merlin's sake! I can't find any way to tell! I've been recounting everything I can for the last two years."

"There must be a way," muttered Hermione. "There must be a way. There _has_ to be an answer."

"It's like what Galadriel said in that Muggle film, isn't it?" Both were avid lovers of the Lord of the Rings film series, and were eagerly anticipating the release of the last movie that coming December.

"What?" asked Hermione, sitting up straighter. "'Even the smallest person can change the course of history'?"

"No, remember the first movie when the Fellowship got to Lothlorien? 'The quest stands upon the edge of a knife-"

"Stray but a little, and it will fail," Hermione said, realization dawning on her face. "You're right. But then, there must be a path-no matter how slight, there must be something that will steer us in the right direction..." Her voice trailed away.

Hermione's eyes gained a keen glint, and her companion fell silent.

"Frisham," she said, "I do believe I've thought of a plan that just might settle that question once and for all."


	3. The Edge of a Knife

"There isn't any hope for him."

Hermione turned from her desk at the sound of Frisham's voice. Frisham wearily closed the door behind her and cast her bag and coat into an armchair. She made her way over to the sofa, where she flung herself down on the cushions and closed her eyes.

"Unspeakable Kapworth confirmed it, then?"

"Yes. His spirit's no longer confined within his body, just as we suspected—it must have traveled behind the veil when that haze hid him. There's no way we can treat him now. We're transporting him to a hospital in Devonshire—the Clementina Institution for Victims of Magical Accidents."

"What can they do for them there?"

"Stabilize his body until his parents finalize the death papers," said Frisham quietly, looking up at Hermione. "Then, they'll remove the protective enchantments, and that'll be that. It's just the same as if he'd received the Dementor's Kiss."

"How horrible for them…their son, just…gone. And speaking of that, why hasn't anyone else thought of traveling back through time to stop accidents from occurring in the Department of Mysteries?" asked Hermione. "There have been four accidental deaths in the last thirty years alone, and only fifty people have been working there since then, _including_ secretarial staff and other office positions. That's an over a ten to fifteen percent fatality rate for an actual Unspeakable."

"We know the death rates, thank you, Mione," said Frisham wryly. "Harry and Molly yelled them at us when we signed up to work with the department, even though we're not actual Unspeakables. And as for saving Unspeakables this way—those rescues couldn't _be_ accomplished with a standard 24-hour time turner, you know that. We can't go rewriting history every time someone dies. And anyway, this spell you found isn't exactly _legal,_ is it?"

"If my theory from last night is correct, we would never know if they _did_ go rewrite history every time an Unspeakable died. It's entirely possible that they do, though. The work they do there is so dangerous—how on earth could thirty Unspeakables last thirty years otherwise?"

"Then why on earth didn't they use it on Malfoy the day before yesterday?" Frisham looked up, bewildered. "If they _do_ do that whenever an Unspeakable is killed."

"There wasn't any way of confirming he was done for until now, I presume. How—how did they know his soul wasn't in his body any longer, if he was unconscious?"

"Angel got him hooked up to a Muggle electroencephalogram machine. They charted a pattern for the absence of a human soul—it shares a few qualities with brain death."

"But how could they be _sure?_ " Hermione persisted. "If he _has_ got a soul still, we'll be changing two years of history without knowing whether we need to or not."

"There were two old prisoners of Azkaban—two who'd been Kissed, before the Dementors were dismissed from Azkaban and killed. Someone managed to get their scans with Muggle techniques, and we wouldn't have even thought of that if Nicholson hadn't determined that his body itself was in near-perfect health."

"I still don't put much faith in it," said Hermione stubbornly.

"They brought a Dementor in. You know they kept some, after they were replaced by human guards at Azkaban. It didn't even approach him—had no reason to. I've never seen Nicholson so upset. You don't know how much the Head of Department values the information Malfoy might have had," Frisham breathed out heavily and summoned a packet of cream wafers from the kitchen. "He might, for all we know, have entered the veil and come back alive. Nobody wanted to have him recover more than Nicholson did, for that very reason—to know what might be on the other side."

"And—"

"He knows what we're up to."

Hermione ground to a halt.

" _What?"_

"I told you, he wants to get that information out of Malfoy. I'm not sure if he's aware how far back we intend to go, but he does know that we intend to go back. I think he believes we've found a simple extension that bends the one-day rule. Even he wouldn't fail to act if he knew when we want to go to."

"But to risk life as we know it on the off-chance that Draco Malfoy knows or knew something that's key to the Department, something Nicholson wants and something that may put the rest of the team into further danger?"

"You were willing to rush back to the day he took the vow the second you found that old spell, before you concluded that it worked. Don't underestimate yourself, or why you were so eager to go back in time before you even knew his soul was gone. We've worked with him for a year now. He's our friend. We're not just aiding the department that employed us or paying off the Potters' life debt. We're doing all we can to save Draco Malfoy, who is our dearest friend in that division."

"I know."

* * *

 _Two Days Later_

* * *

"If you don't mind my asking," said Frisham slowly, rolling up three of the twins' shield cloaks and putting them into her bag, "why do we need to be so well packed? We ought to appear right where we were before then, wouldn't we."

"At the exact point in time _and_ space, yes," Hermione waved her wand distractedly, and a whole array of clothes folded themselves up neatly and flew one by one into her beaded bag, still enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm.

"Wouldn't we just end up at our flat, or at our offices in the ministry?" protested Frisham, as an array of books followed the clothes into their luggage. "We can easily buy any of the things we need."

"You remember how long we were in Egypt. What if we end up in one of the old deserted campsites?"

"I can't remember anywhere we went that was dangerous." Frisham frowned. "And anyway, it wouldn't _be_ deserted when we appeared there. What are we going to do about the whole entering-into-the-bodies-of-our-past-selves thing?"

"This future, as we know it," said Hermione sadly, looking around her, "won't exist, later on. We'll become our past selves, but we'll retain our present memories."

"Have you thought about the Potters' baby son yet?"

Hermione grimaced. "Yes. It'll be cutting it a bit fine, but I'm certain Draco hadn't taken the vow when she and Harry announced they were having a second child, so I picked a week before then as the date we're returning to."

"All right. Do you—do you want to go say goodbye to everyone?"

"No, why? We'll see them again in a little while, and they'd-they'd definitely suspect something."

"I'm going to go say goodbye to Charlie, though," said Frisham softly, hiding her face in her cloak so that Hermione could not see the two fat tears that gathered in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks. Hermione turned to her with sad realization in her eyes, and took Frisham in her arms. Frisham had met Charlie on one of the digs, and when they returned, he would be a complete stranger.

"We don't have to do this. You do know we don't, and there's always a chance it won't work. You could stay, even if I do go…"

"No, it will work. Nothing you ever came across and perfected hasn't worked so far and I don't see why this should be any different at all," Frisham stubbornly set her jaw and wiped her eyes.

"We're in this together. We started this. We're going to finish it."

* * *

 _August 17_ _th_ _2001_

* * *

 _"Alohomora!"_ Hermione woke with a start. Harry was standing at the door, with his wand uplifted. Hermione struggled to sit upright and looked at him.

"Mione, Malfoy's at your office in the Department of Magical Research. He wants to talk to you and your research partner-Posy Frisham. I didn't want to come and wake you, I know you had a late evening yesterday, but he insisted. Said it's urgent."

Hermione noted three things in that instant.

1.) Harry was wearing a mustache (a style he had briefly worn in the summer of 2001.) So they _had_ gone back.

2.) Harry had referred to Frisham as _Posy_. That meant that it was right after that dare when Ginny had won the right to call Frisham by any nickname she pleased after a game of cards. This was the week of August 13th.

3.) Harry seemed to have just said that Malfoy wanted to see her _and_ Frisham. Which had _not_ happened in Hermione's past, and certainly not before the expedition to Egypt.

 _Well then._


	4. Persephone Rising

Hermione had never readied herself for work as quickly as she did that morning. She brushed her teeth, drew the first robe she could find from her closet, washed her face with a modified _Aguamenti_ charm, and put her unruly brown curls into a hastily tied bun. She and Frisham were meeting at nine for breakfast, to discuss the strange occurrence of last night.

Ever since Harry had barged into her flat the evening before, Hermione had been unable to relinquish her worry that Frisham had not come back with her. However, just as she had nervously overturned a pot of coffee all over the kitchen floor, a tawny owl had rapped at her window with a message in its beak. She had immediately recognized it as Frisham's owl Demeter, and let it in at once. Tearing open the envelope, she exhaled in relief as she read the brief note Frisham had penned to her.

 _Hermione,_

 _I arrived back at around 10:30 yesterday night. Meet me for breakfast in the Muggle pastry café off the intersection of Gregor Road and Twill Crossing at nine sharp. I got a note from Malfoy last night. He wants to see us both, but when I sent a reply, the owl returned with the letter._

 _-Frisham_

Hermione frowned. She had gone to her office the previous night with Harry to see what Malfoy wanted, but he had departed by the time she reached the building where Harry had left him. She had then returned home alone, wondering what Malfoy could possibly have wanted. And why hadn't Frisham's owl delivered the letter?

Something was surely afoot. She glanced at the clock, which read a quarter to nine, and grabbed up her beaded bag. With a last glance about the apartment, she turned on the spot and Disapparated.

By five to nine, Hermione had found her way into the Café Twill, and settled into a shadowy corner. Casting a surreptitious glance about the room, she pulled out her wand and cast a nonverbal Notice-Me-Not charm. Two minutes later, a frazzled-looking woman opened the door, stared around in confusion, and tilted her head when she tried to focus on the table in the corner. Smiling in relief, Frisham straightened her coat and bounded over to Hermione.

"You got my owl, then. Let's get straight to it. I know what happened with Malfoy."

"You do?" asked Hermione in some surprise. "Wait—are you referring to what happened to his soul, or why he suddenly wants to see us when he surely didn't before?"

"Both. _He came back too._ "

"What upon earth?" Hermione was too flabbergasted to speak, and sat limply back in her chair. "How do you know?"

"It's the only explanation, Hermione! Look at it this way. We've not even been back twelve hours, not enough to change anything yet. His soul's _gone_ from our time as we know it, if that world even exists any longer. The single way that a human soul can be destroyed, we both know about. The first is if a Horcrux is destroyed. That piece of soul is gone forever into the ether—can't be reconstructed. The second, of course, is—"

"If a dementor consumes it," she replied. "Frisham, that's absolutely brilliant."

"I'm not one of the Department's research heads for nothing, Mione," Frisham rolled her eyes. "But Malfoy's soul was gone. And ours would both be as well. But ours had to go somewhere, and so did his."

"When are we going to be meeting him?"

"Now."

Hermione let out an ungraceful squeak and jumped out of her chair.

"I Flooed his office this morning, and he should be on his way by ten past. That's why I was insistent that you get here sharp at nine."

"Is that him at the door?"

Frisham whirled around. A lanky frame, over six feet, and a familiar head of platinum-blonde hair had appeared at the window. In a moment more, a bell at the door tinkled, and Draco Malfoy came striding into the pastry shop.

Hermione's eyes took in his haggard appearance. He looked as if he had not slept in days, and he sloped over to the corner table and sank heavily into his chair.

"Hermione," he said, inclining his head to her. "Proserpina."

"Draco," said Hermione. "You—"

"Why are you two here?"

"To save you, of course, you great prat," said Hermione, slipping back into the shoes of her eleven-year-old self for a moment. "You went behind the _veil!_ What did you expect was going to happen? You should have realized how dangerous it'd be!"

"I didn't…go behind the veil, precisely." Draco frowned and picked at a scab on his left index finger. "Well, I did end up behind it, but I didn't go there of my own accord."

"Then what did happen?" asked Frisham, stirring another lump of sugar into her cup of milk coffee.

"I tossed that apple through the veil, and then I tried to summon it. But rather than summoning the apple to me, I got summoned to _it._ "

"So when you cast _Accio_ it propelled you forward?"

"No, not exactly. I didn't really move…at least physically, I think. I felt light for a moment, and then I was in this sort of in-between place." He looked meditatively into the cup of Earl Grey tea that Frisham had conjured up for him. "Everything was white, pristine, and sparkling. There were crowds of people there, but they weren't getting into each other's way. Everyone was sitting quietly on the floor, or on seats, or standing silently with a friend. The floor was empty enough for me to walk about quite freely, and there were these depressions on the floor—it was sunken in places."

Draco looked up and met Hermione's eyes, which held a look of dawning comprehension and excitement. "I'd hazard a guess that it was a place where all events exist in all their possible combinations at once. I looked at a bloke there, and he looked—I can't explain it—it was as if I was watching a baby, a child, a young man, a middle-aged fellow, and a grandfather rolled into one, but I could see every change and trait from every stage of his life as if they'd been lined up separately in front of me. It was as if he was all of them at once."

"Did the place look a bit like King's Cross station?" Hermione sat on the edge of her seat, her rapidly cooling mug of hot chocolate forgotten beside the sugar bowl.

"It did." He looked at her in surprise. "How did you know?"

"When Voldemort killed Harry, at the last battle," she said, her mind racing as she began to understand what exactly the Veil might do, "Harry ended up in a place that sounds exactly like what you just described, only he was nearly alone. There was a bit of Voldemort's soul lying under one of the chairs, and he met Dumbledore then and spoke with him. Did you happen to recognize anyone there, Draco? Did you see Dumbledore?"

"No, I didn't see Dumbledore," said Draco, suddenly uneasy. "But I think—I can't be sure, but I think I saw a woman that seemed a bit familiar. As a little girl, she looked like someone I think I knew slightly at school, but she looked different as a woman. More earthly, I'd guess. Less…abstract? She definitely had pureblood features, and a nose like yours, Frisham's. It turned up at the tip."

"Was she blonde?" Frisham spoke up unexpectedly, a sudden shadow of sorrow creeping over her features. "Blonde, with grey-blue eyes and a blue diamond strung on a ribbon round her throat?"

"Everyone was wearing the same sort of stuff there, some kind of soft white shifts. But she was a blonde, with bluish eyes. Why?"

"She's my aunt—the one I'm named after. Or, I believe she might be. Is it possible she reminded you of Luna Lovegood, who was a Ravenclaw a year below you and Hermione?"

"Yes, she did seem a bit…off, in that way that Lovegood's got." Draco fixed Frisham with a stare. "What connexion was your aunt to Luna?"

"Persephone Frisham was Xenophilius Lovegood's wife and Luna's mother," said Frisham quietly. "And my father's younger sister. He was going to name me after her, but both she and my mother thought I should have a slightly different name, so we wouldn't both be Persephone Frisham. She wasn't married to Uncle Xenophilius then. So Mother decided that Proserpina was close enough to Aunt's name, but different enough to be my own, as it were. Aunt Persis and Mother were the best of friends, and me and Luna played together often when we were small, though I was four years older.

"When I was thirteen, Aunt Persis was experimenting up in the attic one day…Luna and I were baking dirigible plum pie in the kitchen…and an explosion shook the house from top to bottom and almost set the oven on fire. We ran upstairs—Uncle Xeno ran up right ahead of us and tried to stop us from going in—but there was a cauldron overturned on the floor and mist everywhere. We breathed it in, all three of us, and we must have been knocked out. When we woke up, Mother was screaming at the bottom of the stairs because she-she couldn't get through the blockage, not even with her wand. Whatever Aunt had been working on, the backlash sealed the rubble in place and the lower two floors had caved in while we were unconscious. We were buried in the rafters of the attic, but we weren't hurt too badly.

"After Mum took me and Luna to Saint Mungo's, a team from the Department of Accidental Magic Reversal squad came over to the Lovegoods' house and searched through the wreckage to find Aunt's body. But they never could. Uncle Xeno held up hope that she hadn't died, for a few months," Frisham's voice broke, and she rubbed her eyes frantically. "But after a while, he accepted that she wasn't coming back."

Hermione laid a hand on Frisham's arm. "How come you never said anything? I—I didn't even know you and Luna were cousins."

"Well, it sort of never came up," said Frisham with a watery smile. "And anyway, how often d'you think one's worst memory comes up in general conversation?"

"I'm sorry." Draco looked stricken. "But how on earth did you know it was her from what I said?"

"The nose. Everyone always said that Aunt Persis and I had the same nose. Luna hasn't got it, and neither has my dad. Their father did, though."

"Sirius! Sirius Black!" cried Hermione. "Malfoy, did you see him? You must have! He went behind the actual veil itself, and—"

"Calm down, Granger. No, I didn't, but I don't think I would have, either. They looked like they had unfinished business, and Black probably wasn't the type to hang around in a place like that."

"You have me there. Sirius would've gone mad if he was stuck there for more than a few hours. But what happened to you next?"

"Well, she—the woman I was talking about—she'd got my apple. The one I threw in. She had it, and she was _eating_ it, too."

"Eating it?" asked Frisham, thunderstruck. "But then, she must have been alive to eat the apple! How do you know she was really eating the apple? Mightn't it all have been an illusion? How can you be sure of what you saw, Draco?"

Draco rolled his eyes and pulled a tin from his pocket. "Because she gave me the core."

Hermione opened her wand and stared incredulously at the unassuming apple core that lay inside. She pulled out her wand and poked it into the tin, murmuring a set of quiet identification spells. Draco leaned over to whisper in Frisham's ear, looking slightly concerned.

"What is she doing?"

"The Auror department collaborated with a Squib studying medicine at Oxford to produce identification spells based on a bit of whoever it is you're trying to identify. It's a sort of parallel to the polyjuice potion. Rather than turning into someone else, you recreate a virtual image of their bodies and gain a plethora of information about them," Hermione informed them both. "This apple's clearly been chewed—I can see the tooth marks. Now all I need is to extract enough of the saliva left on it."

"Hermione, we can't do this here," said Frisham urgently. "The charm's wearing off, and the waiter's been staring into this corner for at least five minutes. Let's apparate back to the office and complete the procedure there."

Hermione nodded, and extended a hand to each of her two companions.

"Grab on."

And with that, they vanished.

* * *

"Are you ready for this, Frisham?" asked Hermione gently. Three hours after she, Frisham, and Draco had apparated out of the pastry shop and into her office in the Department of Mysteries, the trio were gathered around Frisham's desk, while the apple bubbled in a little cauldron of poison-green potion.

"I'm as ready as I'll ever be. I don't think I can cast the spell," she said, answering her friend's unspoken question. "You do it."

Hermione took a deep breath and decanted a vial of the potion into a heavy bronze mortar.

" _Mutuis animis monstrata._ "

A haze of shimmering silver smoke rippled up from the mortar and began to congeal slowly in the center of the room. As they watched, it took the shape of a human, solidifying and morphing until the clear image of a young blonde woman with golden hair hanging down to her waist and soft blue eyes was visible.

She turned, her gentle eyes resting on Frisham's face. The apparition's rosy lips turned up in a smile, and Hermione and Draco looked at Frisham in concern as the little color left in her mouth and cheeks drained away to be replaced by pallid white. Frisham's hands were shaking, and she reached up toward the recreation of her aunt's likeness as if she were grasping at a long-lost treasure.

"Aunt…Persis," Frisham's words seemed somehow labored. At that instant, her eyes closed and her body went limp; Draco lunged forward and caught her before she could hit the marble floor.

As Hermione levitated Frisham onto the settee into the corner and summoned a Calming Draught, Draco wordlessly banished the image of Persephone Lovegood and fell into a chair.

"She's alive," he whispered. "We were right. The theory's been proven. Oh, Merlin."

"What theory?" asked Hermione, exhaling in relief as Frisham gave a cry and opened her eyes.

"Nicholson thought that the veil might lead to a sort of stasis, as it were, an in-between place that led to all the other arches in existence. From what I gathered after passing through it, it _was_ a sort of station once. You said that Dumbledore told Potter he could board a train while he was there?"

"Yes."

"They must lead to other Arches, as well-and time is immaterial then, so it doesn't matter that they're all destroyed in the present. As long as one exists, so we can get into that place, we can access all the others."

"Did you come back through the Veil?"

"I did. I just sort of ended up in the Veil Room as it was yesterday. Why?"

"I-I think there's something we're all missing about the veil. I think we need to go through it. All three of us, together."


	5. On the Brink of a Journey

Hello my wonderful readers! Though this is more of a filler chapter, quite a bit goes on. Draco, Hermione, and Frisham decide on the next step in their plan, Charlie and Frisham meet again, and some Ron and Hermione friendship fluff for you all! Enjoy! It's also my longest yet, over four thousand words. Do leave a review! You all have no idea how much I love reading them!

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"You want us all to go through the veil? _Again?_ " said Draco incredulously. "Bloody hell! I didn't have any control when I went through. We wouldn't have a hand in where we ended up."

"There must be others beside Persephone Lovegood who are imprisoned there," Hermione protested. "We could rescue them all."

"None of them seem to want to leave," countered Draco. "That Lovegood woman just stuffed an apple core into my hand and waved me goodbye! If you ask me, it didn't look like she remembered Luna or Xeno at all. How do you think they'd feel if we brought her back and she didn't even know who they were?"

"Perhaps they would, if we brought them out of there," mused Hermione.

From the settee between them, Frisham groaned and tried to sit up. Hermione glared at her.

"Don't even think about it, Frisham. You fainted dead away, and you almost struck your head on the floor." Hermione put away the remnant of the Calming Draught and summoned a Revitalizing Brew, handing it to Frisham with a stern look as Frisham's mouth opened as if to complain. " _Drink it._ "

"I was going to say," said Frishm, flapping away the bottle, "that I think Mione's right."

"Not you, too," groaned Draco. "Hasn't anyone else got a modicum of sense anymore?"

"How about we tell Harry and the Weasleys what happened?" suggested Hermione. "It hasn't occurred in this time yet, so we'll be all right. And if we have our way, it never will."

"And what about me?" asked Draco apprehensively, watching as Frisham huffed impatiently and downed the potion.

"What about you?"

"Are you going to have me meet the Weasleys, too? It's 2001, and technically, we aren't colleagues yet. I suppose Potter and I are on a sort of acquaintance level, but I hardly get on with the twins or Ronald."

"Ah, well. You'll have to make the best of it," said Frisham, whose eyes had lit up at the prospect of seeing Charlie again.

"How about we go see them all on Thursday? Ginny and Harry are going to tell the rest of the family that they're expecting Albus. Even Fred and George will be there, and you know how busy they were back when they announced it."

"What were they doing?" asked Draco vaguely, while rummaging through a tin on Hermione's desk.

"What are _you_ doing?" she asked, narrowing her eyes at him in suspicion.

"Looking for a chocolate biscuit," he said.

Hermione threw up her hands. "Thursday, then. At six in the evening."

The other two nodded.

Three nights later at Grimmauld Place, Hermione sat on the sofa with a glass of iced lemonade in her hands. Ginny was fidgeting beside her, toying with her wedding ring. She was sitting ramrod-straight, her eyes fixed on the sitting-room door. Hermione's feet were propped up on a low pouf, and little James was in her lap.

After the flurry in the Weasley family when Albus was born just the year after twins Fabian and Roxanne and Fred's daughter Jeanne, everyone had hoped that Hermione's scholarly mindset might soften at the sight of her four honorary baby nieces and nephews, as the arrival of Teddy, Victoire, Dominique, Lucy, and then James had failed to move her to the decision of marrying and settling down with a family. However, Hermione maintained that she had not yet found a man she would like to marry, and refused to say any more on the subject. She groaned slightly at the thought: the announcement of Ginny's pregnancy with Albus had caused Molly to draw up a three-foot-long list of unmarried Weasley cousins and the boys to needle her mercilessly. Hermione had good reason to believe that particular joke-fest would not recur that night, for she planned to explain their return to the past immediately after the Weasleys had finished congratulating Harry and Ginny.

"Mione?" Ginny's voice broke the silence.

"Yes, Gin?"

"Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course."

"I wanted to go back to playing with the Harpies once James was old enough, and—"

"And now you can't, because of the new baby?" asked Hermione sympathetically.

"Well, yes. Gwenog wanted to have me back by the time he was a year old, and I promised her I'd come if I could have flexible training hours. But now James is only eight months old and with the new baby, the earliest I can hope to go back to playing Quidditch is two years from now."

"Ginny, you're a mother now, with one child to look after and another coming next spring. I know you want to keep playing professionally, and you can postpone it as long as you like. Even if the Holyhead Harpies have given away your reserved place by the time you're up to playing again, you can always find another team to join. I know you're disappointed that it's been delayed, but it's nothing to fret over. It just means your plans will be fulfilled a bit later, not that they're over."

"Thanks, 'Mione," said Ginny, a smile breaking over her face. At that, the bell by the fireplace tinkled, and she jumped up to tap the mantelpiece with her wand. A tall, willowy woman stepped gracefully over the fender, and Hermione grinned at the sight of her.

"Ginny! 'Ermione, I 'ope I am not too late?"

"No, nobody else has even arrived yet. Get yourself a glass of lemonade from the counter and sit down with us."

Anais Weasley, Fred's wife, was a one of Fleur's full Veela cousins; Fred and Anais had met at Bill's wedding, and had kept up a correspondence while the family had taken refuge at Auntie Muriel's manor house during the war. In the February of 1998, Anais had ordered a list of the more defense-oriented products from Weasley's Wizard Wheezes to defend her home in Bretagne, where Voldemort was rumored to have been spotted that winter. When Fred recognized the name on the order form, he slipped in a few extra products for disguise and defense, such as the newly-created Metamorph Medallions and Instant Five-Minute Blinding Powder. He also enclosed a letter, in which he had written that he hoped Anais's family was well and that they were all keeping safe.

Due to some oddly sensitive vein of thought, he had bared some of his own feelings and fears about the war and his friends' lives, including hers. At the end, he had overcome a sudden attack of shyness and said that once Britain was safer, he hoped to see her again. It had not been much, but the letter touched Anais, and she came to live near Bill and Fleur, applying for an internship at the Daily Prophet once the war was over. Needless to say, she had been delighted to find a trio of best friends in Hermione, Ginny, and George's wife Angelina Johnson.

Used to a more liberal press in France, she was shocked at the close tie between the Ministry and the Prophet, and used the little influence she had to campaign on weekends to separate the paper from the government. Incensed, her supervisor threatened to have some connection of his in the Wizengamot order her deportation back to France.

It was at this point that Anais truly made her mark, for in a fit of temper, she mentioned what had happened to Fleur at dinner one day. Fleur had petted her cousin's wounded pride for a few days and then gone straight to Kingsley, where she demanded to have an audience with the Wizengamot. Rather startled by her insistence (and too taken up by working to remedy the war had done across the globe) he had consented, and the more corrupt members of the Wizengamot proceeded to have their intellect ("Are the lot of you as thick as a tribe of 'arlepots?") their breeding ("Am I mistaken, or 'ave you truly got troll blood in you?") and their motives lambasted by a pair of angry Frenchwomen, one of whom transformed into a fire-breathing Veela during the session.

Two months later, it could truly be said that with Kingsley and Mr. Weasley at the helm of the ministry and Anais Fontaine rising steadily through the ranks at the Daily Prophet, the media and the government were beginning to lose the influence of bribery, pure blood, and traditional prejudices.

In November 2002, Fred had proposed to Anais, and they had been married on New Year's Eve. Two years later, in the October of 2004, the couple's first daughter, Jeanne Fontaine Weasley, had been born. Nine weeks after that, Anais attained the goal she had been striving for since she arrived in England, and became the Daily Prophet's editor-in-chief.

"Mione, you look troubled," said Anais, sitting down beside Hermione on the sofa. Like Fleur, Anais preferred to use the shortened version of Hermione's name, because her accent had become no less pronounced despite three years in the United Kingdom as far as the letter "H" was concerned. "Is somezing ze matter?"

"Not much. I—I've just been thinking about mine and Frisham's research project a lot lately."

"Oh! I was terribly excited when I 'eard about your work wiz 'ze arches," said Anais earnestly. "'Ave you both discovered anyzing new? 'As the Department of Mysteries contacted you two?"

"Yes, to both questions," said Hermione, her brow creasing in a frown.

Puzzled by her expression, Anais opened her mouth to question further, but then stopped as the front door opened and closed, followed by the boisterous sound of eight masculine voices, four feminine ones, and the cooing and babbling of four babies. Above the din rose the high-pitched tones of Victoire, Dominique, and Teddy, who appeared to be having some sort of argument. All the three women in the sitting room looked at each other and smiled as the madding crowd came streaming in, a chattering band of redheads, blondes, and the silky brown curls and long black braids of Audrey Standish and Angelina Johnson.

No one but Anais, Ginny, and Harry noticed that Hermione was being oddly silent, merely picking at her dinner with her fork and making monosyllabic replies whenever any of the family addressed her. Hermione had told Ginny she would be bringing Frisham and another guest to dinner, and Ginny had agreed, eager to see Frisham again. As the dinner progressed and everyone finished wishing Ginny and Harry luck with the coming baby, a knot tied itself firmly into Hermione's stomach. She was dreading their reactions when Malfoy arrived.

Suddenly a chime sounded in the sitting room again, and everyone looked up from their plates or away from the coffee table where Fred, George, Percy, and Bill were dealing poker hands with their respective babies in their laps. Charlie stopped teasing Ron about his latest visit to the dragon reserve, and looked expectantly toward Harry.

"Who is it?" called Harry, trying in vain to quiet James, who was shrieking in laughter at the sight of little Jeanne trying to pull Percy's glasses off.

"Frisham!" came a muffled voice from the fireplace. Molly deactivated the wards and Frisham toppled into view. The immediate cries of welcome and offers of supper were smothered when another sooty figure unfolded itself and stepped into the room. Unnerved by the unflattering stares pointed at him, Draco sidled over to Hermione and bent down to whisper in her ear.

"I _told_ you this was a bad idea."

Hermione waved him to an unoccupied ottoman and stood up at the front.

"Um. Well, now seems like a good time to make an announcement I've been wanting to for a while."

"You're going out with the ferret?" asked Ron in disbelief. Surprised, Hermione noticed that there was little hostility in his voice. She shook her head.

"No. But you all know Frisham and I have been researching the veiled arches from those scrolls we found in Egypt?"

"Yeah," said Harry.

"Well—the thing is—we've come back in time from 2005."

Silence met their announcement.

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Two hours and many bowls of chilli later, Draco was leaning against the sofa with his legs extended toward the coffee table with a copy of _Elizabeth Gresham's Fae Tales For Little Mages_ on his knee. After the whole story had been told and the three of them had persuaded the others to look at their memories in the Pensieve Hermione had brought along, they had been assailed by question after question. Hermione thought she had often seen Ginny and Fleur giving her a queer look, as if they knew something she didn't. Once all the inquiries had been answered, Hermione and Frisham were absolutely exhausted, and gladly accepted the mugs of coffee Molly brought over for them and for Draco. Then they had all fallen into conversations and began to ask questions about the future, most of which were answered—after all, as the three dimension-travelers had concluded, the future they had come from no longer existed, and it hardly mattered what the others knew about it.

While in the midst of a conversation with Bill and Fleur about the possibility of she, Draco, and Frisham along with a few of the other Weasleys journeying to Egypt to do more research, Hermione glanced into the corner where Charlie and Frisham were sitting. Much like the last "first meeting" they had had, Charlie's eyes had fallen on Frisham the instant she first stepped into the room. As Frisham often loved to say after they had gotten engaged in that vanished future, it had not been her beauty that had attracted him, as her hair and clothes had been dusty, her hair a sand-filled bird's nest, and her face streaked with mud and sweat. Even now, when Frisham's robes were pressed and tailored, her auburn bob impeccably combed, and her shoes polished until they shone, his eyes were fixed directly upon hers as he told her the story of how Harry, Ron, and Hermione had helped Hagrid smuggle Norberta the dragon out of Hogwarts when they were in first year. Although he did not know it, it was a story she loved, for he had told it to her the first time as well, and many times after that. Frisham's gestures and speech gave no indication that she and Charlie had ever been more to each other than friends in the future, but her wide eyes held a soft look that had only ever rested upon him. Perhaps Charlie's heart recognized the look, for as Hermione watched, he smiled at Frisham and told her that if she ever did come to Egypt, he might take a brief leave from his job in Romania and introduce her to some of the more beautiful African dragons, such as the Garagosian Flamethrower.

Hermione laughed quietly and turned to her left, where Draco sat with the storybook and the elder three children. The moment Victoire had come close enough to him to get a good, long look at his hair, she had exclaimed that it looked exactly like hers. Of course, Draco's lacked the luminous quality of Fleur's hair and Victoire's, but it was close in colour, and this fact was enough to win Victoire and Teddy over completely. Of course, three-year-old Dominique did what the others did, so she too was sitting beside Draco listening to him read them a bedtime story. Ron looked rather amused at the picture, and came to sit beside Hermione with a tumbler of orange pop.

"Seems strange, doesn't it?" he asked. "That he should become our friend, when only nine years ago we were sworn enemies?"

"You said it, Ron," she chuckled, watching Teddy berate Draco for skipping a page in the story by accident. "But then again, I've been colleagues with him for the past two years or so, and you got on quite well with him then, too."

"Ah well. He can definitely play a mean game of blackjack," said Ron, shooting Draco a mock-glare. "Thank God we were just playing with chips, or he'd have cleaned me of my next three months' pay."

"You're an Auror," Hermione pointed out in confusion. "You earn very well, and he couldn't have won _that_ much in an hour."

"You'd be surprised," said Ron, offering Hermione another glass of pop. She accepted it with a smile. "Charlie and Frisham definitely seem to like each other. I wouldn't be surprised if he really did find time to take a fortnight off from work and go to Egypt while you three are there. Feels weird," he said, with a hint of sadness. "That when I say 'you three,' it doesn't refer to me, you, and Harry any longer, but you, Malfoy, and Frisham."

"You don't really think that, do you, Ron?" she asked. "Do you really think me, Frisham, and Draco can go all the way to Egypt and solve this alone even though we have our memories from the future? This is more than a three-person job, and that's why I'm going to ask you and Charlie to come with us if you can be spared, and ask Harry and Bill to man the research front with Ginny and the twins at home.

"You will?" said Ron incredulously.

"You and Harry are my best friends," she reminded him. "We couldn't have found the Horcruxes without each other during the war, we couldn't have—"

"But I ran out on you two," Ron's voice still fell to a shamed whisper whenever he spoke of it.

"You came back," said Hermione, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and hugging him. "You came back to us because that was where you were meant to be, and you understood it. And you tried to get back right after the Horcrux was gone from around your neck. It wasn't your fault that you left, and it isn't your fault you couldn't come back right away. You walked into those Snatchers, remember? And you took the blackthorn wand off one of them. I don't know how we would have got along without it if Harry hadn't had a spare one while the phoenix one was broken."

"Malfoy would have probably done better against the locket than I did. Well, now, that is. If you run into another one of those, give it to him, not me, won't you?"

"You're never going to stop calling him Malfoy, are you?" said Hermione, looking across at Charlie and Frisham.

"No, I don't think so," said Ron thoughtfully. "You know, it isn't that I dislike him at all—we're friends now, I suppose, all of us united to help you in a common cause. I trust the bloke for some reason, although I suppose I don't know enough of him in this timeline to have a cause to. But you do, and you and Harry are my best friends," He quoted her words from a few moments earlier. "I trust you, so I trust him, too."

Hermione looked at Ron, her lips parted in amazement. The depth of perception she had often suspected Ron had in school had now become obvious, so evident that she could not dismiss it. He nodded at her shocked look, and then blew out his cheeks at little Fabian, George's year-old son, who had toddled over with his arms held up in a silent demand to be picked up and cuddled.

After Ron had gone off to put Fabian into the big crib in the upstairs nursery, Hermione looked around at the people she had grown to love unconditionally over the past fifteen years (thirteen, if she left out the future one-and-a-half) and her heart swelled almost painfully. How much a home these people had all become to her—Harry and Ron, her first and best friends, Molly and Arthur, who had stood in for her parents when she was in the Muggle world, Bill and Charlie, who had sheltered them and played the role of big brother to her and to Harry, Percy, who had understood her love for knowledge and drive to succeed in a way that none of the others had, and had showed her sympathy and given her advice on those occasions when even Harry didn't appreciate how she thought and felt. The twins, who had taught her to laugh in a way she didn't know was possible before she had met them, who had brought some cheer to the wizarding world even in its darkest hour.

Ginny, who'd become her first girl friend, there for her to open her heart to and laugh with on those rare slumber-parties that Hermione consented to join. Fleur, who despite Hermione's initial dislike of her was brave, strong, and filled the role of elder sister, while Ginny stepped into the role of the younger. Angelina, whom Hermione had admired ever since her first year for her nerve and daring on the Quidditch field (and especially for her nerve in accepting one of the incorrigible Weasley twins as her husband and then proceeding to raise a pair of troublemaking twins herself). Anais, who had struck a magnificent blow at corruption in Wizarding Britain while completing their sextet. Even Audrey, Percy's wife, who (while shyer and more reserved than the lot of them) had joined them, offering a touch of gentle, ladylike humor that the other women appreciated and loved nearly as much as they loved the witch herself. And, of course, Draco, who had showed Hermione once and for all that a human soul could forge itself a path completely independent and free of the road that had been laid out before it.

She found her lips trembling with some emotion she could not truly comprehend, as she watched Ginny's head resting on Harry's shoulder, both of them discussing ideas for baby names with Molly and Arthur, Frisham and Charlie discussing digs and dragons and the things they hoped to see and do, the Weasley men complaining that Angelina, Audrey, and Fleur had cheated at their game of Scrabble, Anais rocking her baby daughter to sleep in her arms, the long-suffering Draco reading story after story to his insatiable audience, and Ron joining the three toddlers to help Draco make the monster voices for the fairytale.

A sob broke from her throat, and a feeling too deep and too piercing for joy made itself known in her heart. As she reclined back on the sofa and swallowed a few sips of pop, she knew in that moment that she had been gifted with love that most never knew, never found, would never have the chance to experience.

Suddenly, a poem she had read long ago as a little girl popped into her head, and tiny tears began to fall down her cheeks.

What's a best friend,  
But the smell before rain?  
The hand that we give,  
When a friend is in pain

It's the things that we do,  
The words that we say  
That pulls a friend through,  
When their heart's torn away

It's the steps that we take,  
The songs that we sing  
It's the choices we make,  
And the hope that we bring

I'm here through the tears,  
I'm here through the laughter,  
I'll always be here  
Until death, and after

It's the things we give up;  
The things we give in  
When our heart's full of love,  
And selfless begins

It's the hearts that we touch,  
The things that we won't  
We never give up,  
We could, but we don't

It's the people we save,  
With the hands that we give  
When we're lost, we still say,  
You're my reason to live

I'm here through the tears,  
I'm here through the laughter  
I'll always be here,  
Until death, and after.

She, Hermione Granger, was truly blessed.


	6. Chapter 6

Six weeks after the Weasleys had been briefed at the family supper, Hermione was closeted up in the Ministry's Hall of Records with Ron, Charlie, Frisham, and Draco. She was devoutly thankful that she had thought of their replicas of the Egyptian papyruses before they came back in time, and that they could all access them. The five of them were scattered throughout the shelves, each with a sizable stack of books and documents at their elbows. Hermione's, of course, was taller than she was.

Hermione was currently going through a set of papers that belonged to a German rabbi, Fritz Rosenbaum, one of the last people who had known the location of the second Veil of Death. She had made a brief trip to Germany to see if there was any record of him after 1943, which was when the second veil had vanished. After finding nothing but a letter he sent to his sister in early 1943, imploring his sister to come to Hamburg so that he could protect her, Hermione went home; she had gotten the information she had come for. There was also an answer from the sister, Elise; she refused, saying that she had friends who had found a safe way to reach England. There was no further correspondence between them, and Hermione could only conclude that Fritz had been among the group of rabbis that had willingly gone through the veil sixty years ago.

But she could not shake the feeling that Fritz had _known_ something about the veil—known beyond a doubt what lay behind it. If only he had not been so reticent with his sister! Then again, owl post had been notoriously insecure in those days, and he likely could not have risked the letter falling into the wrong hands. Hermione bit her pen as she looked over the duplicates of the two faded notes, written in two strikingly different hands: one full of angles and thick black strokes, and one graced by smooth curving lines and slender characters. Surprisingly, the first belonged to Elise, and the second to her brother, Fritz.

 _Dear Lise,_ (Hermione had cast a translation spell on it).

 _I pray this letter finds you well, my dear little sister. I know that matters in the countryside have not been so grave, especially as you implemented our Vater's precautionary measures some years back. Lise, I must tell you that although you wish to remain near the bones of your dearest Zachary, it is not safe for you in the country any longer, no matter how strong our Vater's discovery might be. Although you must doubt that Hamburg will be safer for you, I implore you to trust me—trust your older brother as you have always done. I have found a way that will guard you eternally, a safe place to which Grindelwald and his muggle ally Adolf Hitler cannot follow you, no matter how hard they may try. Bring all whom you deem trustworthy—but my little Elise, you must use the Veritaserum I am enclosing to you before you choose whom to take with you. If you follow my directions, many innocent lives may be spared. I shall be seeking this haven within the next few weeks, but once I have gone, Elise, it will be beyond you. I shall not be returning to Hamburg after I leave, not even if our side wins the war._

 _I understand you must have no clue what I am speaking of, but know this: I, your brother, am the one person you can place your faith in above all others. If you choose not to come to me in Hamburg, you will never see me again. I shall think no worse of you if you do not come, but my heart would rest so much more easily if I could see you and your children safe before my eyes. As their father is dead, it is my duty as their uncle to see they come to no harm._

 _All my love, Lisette, and all my prayers that you and yours keep safe until I may see you again. Please consider my words carefully, Lise. I shall see that you and the little ones have a home free from fear and danger for the rest of their lives._

 _Write back soon, my sister. May the blessings of God be upon you._

 _Fritz_

Hermione mused over the letter. There was no question in her mind that Fritz had indeed gone through the veil. She put the paper down and picked up Elise's reply.

 _Darling Fritz,_

 _I thought long and hard about what you have said. We are quite safe here in the country—neither the muggle nor the magical forces have any idea that we are here, for we are using ancient Hebrew spells to defend our fortress, spells that Grindelwald and his forces will never have heard of. They have been passed down in our family, and there exists no written record of them to find. It's true, my brother, the thought of leaving the place where my husband lies wrenches my heart…after all, so many of the women who have lost husbands do not know where they might be buried, and some don't even know if their loved ones are still living…but I do have my children to think of. Fritz, I do trust you above all others, and I would come to Hamburg in a heartbeat if the journey could be undertaken safely. If Zachary were living, I might be able to, but with three young children—and one only ten months old—side-along apparition is out of the question, and I have heard that all portkeys leading to the major cities are being diverted to concentration camps._

 _Zachary's brothers recently made contact with a retired English officer, who has promised to house us in his estate in Scotland for as long as we need. He made a wizard's oath, and I viewed Marius's memories. The officer is to be trusted. He has given us a portkey that will be taking us to Devonshire three weeks from now. Brother, if we can only maintain our wards until then, we will be safe from this madness for the rest of our lives. Will you not join us, Fritz? If you cannot, and this is truly one of the last times I may be writing to you…Fritz, my darling big brother, will you promise never to forget me? Don't forget the baby Elise that used to tweak your nose, or the toddler Lissy who begged you to brush her teeth, or the six-year-old Lise that you took to her first day of school. You have looked after me so well, throughout my life, and I pray that you remain safe and keep me and the girls in your heart, wherever it is that you are going. I, too, shall never come back to Germany if our plans come to fruit. Perhaps, after all this is over, you could come to the British Isles as well?_

 _I am sending your letter back, as well—if by chance the worst happens, and your letter is found on me, they will come for you. I know you can summon my letters, while I am not powerful enough—so I know that anything I enclose to you will reach no hands but yours. I would burn your note, Fritz, but now that I have so little of you and we may never meet again, I cannot bring myself to do it. You can return it to me, if you do come to England._

 _Love and kisses from me and the small ones._

 _Your sister,_

 _Elise Schneider_

As she finished re-reading Elise's epistle, Hermione started up—the piece of parchment floated forgotten to the floor. She shoved two or three books off her lap, and rocketed away to the next aisle, where Draco and Ron were poring over a book containing an account of disappearances that had been linked to the Veil of Death.

"Ron! Draco!" she shouted. They looked up sharply, and their eyes lit up at once as they saw the fire in her gaze.

"What is it, Hermione? What've you found out?" asked Ron, getting up and offering his chair. She shook her head and began to speak so rapidly that the two men found if difficult to hear her. Charlie and Frisham caught the sound of her voice and hurried over from the shelf where they had been confabulating in low whispers.

"These letters I showed you. There's no record at all of Fritz Rosenbaum after 1943, but if Elise _did_ succeed in getting to England, there must be some trace of her coming here. It says here, in the letter, that she had a ten-month-old baby—the baby must be about sixty years old now, even if Elise is dead."

"She might not be," Charlie reminded her. "You're forgetting that wizards live much longer than Muggles. Say she was around thirty at the time this letter was written. Wizards have children young, most of the time. She'd be ninety now, and very likely still alive."

"We are in the bloody Hall of Records," remarked Frisham. "There's information on every living witch or wizard who ever officially lived or worked or visited here for the last two hundred and fifty years."

Hermione gasped. "Why didn't I think of that?" She looked rapidly down at Elise's letter and then pulled out her wand.

" _Accio_ Elise Schneider's file!"

At once, a tan-colored folder came flying from one of the upper shelves and hurtled toward them. Draco snatched it out of the air and handed it to Hermione. She opened it with trembling hands, and let the mass of papers within slide gently onto the table.

"Duplicate it and send the original back," suggested Ron. "It'd be good to have a copy we can take out with us."

" _Geminio!_ " said Hermione, tapping the papers with her wand. Immediately, a second identical pile shimmered into being right beside the first. Ron sent the first one back to its place, and the five sat down around the little table to look at the papers in Elise's file.

"There's a copy of a marriage certificate here," said Frisham, pulling a piece of stiff paper out of the heap. "Elise Rosenbaum and Zachary Schneider, June 13th, 1935."

"And three birth certificates," murmured Hermione. "Her children's. Eva, Ada, and Paul Schneider."

"What years were they born?" asked Charlie.

"1936, 1939, and 1942," she replied.

"Here's Elise's birth certificate—no, it's not—it's only an identity verification. She was born on December 18th 1916," said Draco. "She was quite young, then…she'd be about eighty-seven now. This must have been from when she arrived in England. Look—September 1943."

"That fits; we know her brother vanished sometime in the summer of that year," said Hermione thoughfully. "Is there anything else?"

"Well, there's this…oh, heavens," said Frisham, pulling an embossed piece of card-paper from underneath the identity verification. "Oh, my."

"What is it?" asked the other four in unison, burning with curiosity.

"It's another marriage certificate."

"Whose?" asked Hermione in confusion. "Is it the original copy of this one?"

"No, no, it's hers…but it was witnessed here, in the ministry. Looks like she got remarried after coming here."

"What was her new husband's name?" asked Charlie.

Frisham appeared to be beyond speech; she wordlessly shoved the paper at Hermione and Draco, who stooped to read the twin names printed on the certificate.

" _Elise Schneider and Gaius Scrimgeour, April 30_ _th_ _1945,_ " she read. "Gaius Scrimgeour! Surely, surely he wasn't—"

"The one and only," breathed Draco. "Minister Scrimgeour's father. Old Rufus's dad."

"But Rufus!" said Hermione. "When was he born? Oh, Merlin's pants— _Accio_ Rufus Scrimgeour's file!"

Another thick file raced toward them. Hermione grabbed it and flipped it open to the first page. It proved to be the deceased Minister's birth certificate.

"Baby boy, Rufus Fritz Scrimgeour, 7 pounds 3 ounces, born on July 30th 1946 to Elise and Gaius Scrimgeour at 12:51 A.M. at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," she read aloud.

" _Elise Schneider_ was _Rufus Scrimgeour's_ mother?" gasped Draco. "Merlin's pants," he said, echoing Hermione.

"That might explain why he was so determined to become an excellent Auror before he took over from Fudge," said Hermione. "Elise had seen horrors in Germany and taught him the importance of fighting evil."

"He died without telling Voldemort where Harry was hiding," Charlie reminded them, his voice shaking slightly. He had picked up Rufus's death certificate and put it down hurriedly, as if it had stung him.

"Hermione?" said Frisham. "Hermione."

"Yes?" asked Hermione, turning toward her partner.

"There isn't a death certificate here for Elise. And there's an address—319 Apricot Lane, in the wizarding settlement of—"

"Godric's Hollow," said Hermione, who felt absolutely dazed at the storm of information that had been flung at her over the last quarter of an hour.

"Hermione, Frisham," said Ron. "I—I think you might want to hear this." It appeared that since the last time he had made a comment, Ron had found the files of the three Schneider children. "Eva Schneider vanished when she was sixteen, in 1952."

"What happened?" asked Draco fearfully.

"All Pointer spells failed, yet a Dark incantation derived from a vial of her blood kept at St. Mungo's from a medical test confirmed that she was still alive in 1954," read Ron. "It says that she was last seen here, at the Ministry, on her way to visit her stepfather in his office. And apparently she just vanished en route. She never got there. He was in a meeting—he was vouched for by at least twenty people. Nobody was able to confirm having seen her past the first floor, which is where she entered—her stepfather's floor was on the third."

Hermione's mouth suddenly went dry. "Past the first floor? She was meant to go up?"

"Yes…" Ron trailed off.

"Past the first floor…" whispered Hermione. "But—but what if she never went past the first floor?"

"Well, then wouldn't someone on the first floor have found her?"

"What if she went down to the sixth floor below the first, instead of up to the third? What if her uncle was calling her, and she heard it somehow?"

"You think—you _don't_ think—not the veil?" asked Frisham.

"You said there were links, Draco, which linked the three," said Hermione. "What if Fritz sensed that his niece was near, and was unaware of how time had passed out here—and somehow summoned her into the veil to keep her safe? What if she thought she was in Hamburg alone, and that she'd been separated from her family. He was a powerful wizard, if he managed to vanish an arch—"

"Looks like it's time to pay a visit to Godric's Hollow," said Draco.


	7. Chapter 7

Hi guys! I'm sorry that this update took so long, but I _promise_ I have a good reason this time. I had finals for my three summer classes, and then I had to go overseas the very next day, because my aunt's getting married. In the midst of finals, studying, and the whirlwind of packing ("WHERE IS MY TOOTHBRUSH? I THOUGHT YOU HAD IT!?") I haven't found any time to write for nearly a month. Starting today, I have exactly two weeks of very much needed down time, and I start college immediately after I go home (Go Cal Bears! xD) so you might get another update before then. Being in a climate where parrots soar past the flat windows and guava trees grow in droves between apartment buildings (it's like a rainforest. iN THE CITY.) does wonders to the imagination, and so I have braved heat, mosquito bites, sockets that don't like USA plugs, and a desire to flop down and read P. G. Wodehouse's Jeeves novels to bring the latest chapter to you all. Enjoy! And don't forget to review!

* * *

Knock, Hermione," whispered Frisham.

Frisham, Charlie, Ron, Draco, and Hermione were standing outside a small cottage surrounded by a garden filled with bluebells, foxgloves, honeysuckle, jasmine, and climbing rose branches. The door was painted a deep forest-green, and a brass knocker shaped like a fox's head hung upon it. A path laid with small-paving stones led up to the front step, where several cheerful plant-pots clustered at the entrance to the garden and flanked the painted door on either side.

"All right." Hermione tentatively stretched out her finger toward the knocker, and snatched it back at once when it shimmered and opened its mouth.

"Who are you?"

"Her-Hermione Granger, from the Department of Mysteries," said Hermione, realizing with some surprise that the voice that issued from the fox's maw was female.

"And your companions?" asked the fox, looking at Charlie, Ron, Frisham, and Draco in turn.

"We're here to speak with Elise Schneider," said Draco smoothly, stepping forward so that the fox's eyes fell on him.

"Schneider?" asked the fox. "One moment, then." The fox jumped away from the knocker and shook itself vigorously; when it had finished, a living fox stood there, with cream-colored fur around its nose and a thick red coat.

"You're a real fox!" gasped Charlie.

"Of course I am," snorted the fox. "What did you think I was, a hippopotamus?" She turned round thrice and then vanished.

"Where'd she go?" asked Ron, peering about his heels as if he thought the fox might have escaped into the tidy flowerbeds.

"Excuse me?"

The five visitors looked up sharply. There on the threshold stood an elderly woman with grey hair in tight curls. Her grey eyes were surrounded by crow's-feet, but her eyes were as sharp as theirs. At her skirts was the red fox, who looked mightily pleased with herself.

"See, Miss Lise! I told you that visitors had come, but you didn't believe me."

"Mrs. Schneider?" asked Frisham. "We're from the Ministry of Magic-may we come in?"

Elise half-retreated behind the door.

"How should I know you are who you say you are?"

Hermione raised her wand and placed it on the doorstep.

"By my magic, I swear that I, Hermione Granger, and my companions, mean no harm to the inhabitants of this house."

A puff of golden smoke rose from the little red tile and vanished.

"Well...come in, come in. Will this take long?" asked Elise.

"I'm afraid it might, Mrs. Schneider," said Hermione apologetically. "Is it a bad time?"

"No, not at all. Come into the sitting room..." Elise led the way down a yellow-painted hallway, turned left, and directed the five into a cozy sitting room, full of squashy armchairs and footstools. She took a seat in a comfortable-looking brown recliner and gestured her guests to sit down as well.

"What is it you need?"

"Well...Mrs. Schneider...do you know if your brother, Fritz Rosenbaum, is still living?"

The color drained from Elise's face, and she gripped the arms of her chair so tightly that her hands went white.

"How do you know about Fritz?"

"We think we know what happened to him," said Hermione quietly. "Did you ever discuss a veiled arch with him?"

"A veiled arch?" Elise seemed perplexed. "No, I haven't. Is that some sort of code? He did do some ciphering during the war, but he never discussed it with me."

"They're instruments that lead to the realm between the living and the dead," explained Draco. "Only three are known to have existed. One was destroyed thousands of years ago. One is currently in the lower levels of the Ministry. The third disappeared in 1943, the year your brother vanished. He, along with several of his friends, stepped through it to find refuge on the other side. One of them vanished the arch after that-it might have been your brother, and it might not. But that is why you never heard from your brother again, ma'am. We came here to ask if you'd heard from him because we're trying to determine if people can be brought out from the veil into the world once more."

"Thank you," said Elise. Tiny tears had gathered in her eyes' she impatiently dashed them away. "I never knew what happened to him-I went back to Germany to search for him after the war was over, and when I couldn't find him I thought that he'd been killed in the camps...oh, Fritz." She buried her face in her hands for a moment, and then smiled at them.

"Mrs. Schneider?" asked Frisham, "Could you perhaps tell us the story of how you came to England, and what happened after?"

"I don't see how it'd help much, but all right."

Elise steepled her fingers together and looked pensively into the fire.

"I came here in September 1943 with my three children, Eva, Ada, and Paul. I was almost twenty-seven at the time. Doubtless you know what was going on in Germany back then-my brother wrote to ask me it I wanted to come to him in Hamburg for safety. I suppose he must have been talking about this veil you mentioned, and he said we would never meet again if I didn't go. Obviously, I didn't believe it, and there was no safe way for me to get to Hamburg, especially with a baby and two small girls. A friend of mine knew a professor here in England, and he set up an international portkey to bring my family and several more of his friends to Devonshire. We sought asylum from the British ministry, and applied to become citizens under Minister Bagnold. By and by things calmed down-the war seemed close to its end. I had made many friends among my neighbors-I lived in London then-and many went off in the spring of 1945 for the last stretch of the war, as it were...wizards and Muggles alike.

"My closest friend-my next-door neighbor-was a young man called Gaius, and he worked in the Auror office. He began to pay court to me that March, and he begged me to marry him before he left...most of those who did never came back alive. I was fond of him, and I married him without giving the matter much thought. After all, we did care for each other, and my children were happier for the stability of a father in their lives again. We wed in April. and he was gone in May. I missed him far more than I thought I would, and I was overjoyed when he came back safe in October once the war was over. Our boy...our Rufus...was born the next summer. He became Minister after Fudge, you know...I think my son did better as an Auror. Action was his way of dealing with fear, and once he had to let others run risks...it changed him, you see. He couldn't cope," said Elise sadly. "He often said, before he died, that Mr. Potter wasn't cooperating enough. Not that I blame the poor boy, after all Fudge did to him.

"But when Rufus was little, our whole family was happy. My older three loved Gaius dearly, and he loved them just as much as he loved me and Rufus. He took them everywhere, even let them go swimming in the Fountain of Magical Brethren once. I was so angry," said Elise with a little smile. "But we were happy, you know. And we were, until...until..."

"Until your daughter Eva went missing?" asked Hermione gently.

"How do you know about that?" asked Elise. She went tense, and a note of raw pain sounded in her voice. Then she relaxed back into her seat again. "I expect you'd looked it up, then. The Ministry does do its duty these days, I suppose. Yes, she vanished. Went to visit Gaius and then never reached his office when she was on holiday in 1952. Just before she started her sixth year," she said softly. "She'd done beautifully on her O. W. L.'s...eight Outstandings, well on her way to becoming a Healer. And then...just like that...gone. She's still alive, you know. I do the spell almost every day...and she is. I keep praying that perhaps the strain of her studies got to her, and she ran away...but she and I were so close. She would never leave and not send word. She knew what it would do to me. I can only guess there was foul play involved, but I don't see how there could be. When she was reported missing, Gaius got Minister Bagnold to put the entire building on magical lockdown and they searched, and eventually everyone ended up getting a dose of Veritaserum. It did look suspicious, you see...a beautiful sixteen-year-old girl went missing in the middle of a crowded hall, and they thought there was just cause to administer it.

"But no one knew anything. One young secretary said she thought she'd seen Evie going down to the lower levels with a queer look on her face. She submitted a Pensieve memory, too, but as Eva'd gone to see Gaius on the third floor and the secretary claimed to have had only a fleeting glimpse, there wasn't much the DMLE could do with it. Nothing we knew but for the fact that she was alive, that she wasn't in the Ministry, and nobody in the Ministry had anything to do with it. Gaius was heartbroken, you know. He loved Eva and Ada and little Paul like his own children, and he had already started talking of getting jewelry made for her wedding in future...started organizing things for a healing internship in America, too! In America, think of it...they were far ahead of us in medicine even then, you see. Eva was so excited when I told her that she had to go to thank him straightaway. And she never came back.

"Gaius started to go down after that. All the children but Rufus were away at Hogwarts, and Evie was gone. I was out hounding the ministry to find her from morning till night, and Gaius blamed himself. Said there were magicks in the Ministry that could have done it, he was sure, but he didn't know which. He went to his books-looking up something called an Thanarcsen and researching about it-and one day he had a heart attack at work and that was that. Evie had been missing for six months...it was Christmas Day. He was found in the lower levels of the ministry collapsed on the floor."

Draco and Hermione exchanged significant glances.

"Was it ever confirmed that he had a heart attack? Did the healers do a post-mortem?"

"Well, they confirmed that there had been no spells cast on him and no foreign agents in his body, and no evidence of illness. The heart, of course, is the seat of magical energy, and it's often difficult to determine what might have overpowered it. The healers told me it was possible that the spellwork present in the room where he was found might have killed him, but Gaius already had a weak heart. He'd been hit by an unknown spell during a raid, while the Aurors were clearing out the last of Grindelwald's followers in Britain. He started getting short of breath and his spells became erratic, so he was delegated to the training ranks, to teach younger Aurors. He thought he would recover fully after his rest from active duty, but he never did. His heart just kept getting worse. I wasn't surprised when it happened, you know. He insisted on continuing work, and the healers suspected going down those stairs was too much. Far likelier than it being some strange sort of magic."

"Did they ever tell you where exactly he was found?" asked Hermione.

"No, they said that the research going on around the place was classified."

"When did he pass, Mrs. Schneider?" asked Draco.

"I told you. Six months after Eva vanished."

"No, no, what I meant was—did they find him dead, or was he _alive_ when they got to him?"

"He died about four hours after they found him," answered Elise. "He was still breathing when an Unspeakable ran across him."

"The arch I mentioned earlier," said Draco, choosing his words carefully, "is capable of extracting souls from their bodies and placing them within their past selves. Over the course of a few hours, the past and present souls engage in a sort of conflict within the body, and finally the soul that traveled back in time takes control. But the body left behind in the present is soulless, and will die on its own. It can be stabilized with nutrition spells…otherwise, in the present, it's as if that body received the Dementor's Kiss. Furthermore, it is capable of harboring bodies along with souls, if a person intentionally steps in. You said that an Unspeakable found him in the lower levels. It's possible that your late husband lost his soul to the veil and was transported back in time. And if what that secretary said about Eva going down to the lower levels was true, Eva might have entered it on her own, and remains inside. Nothing ever changes in the world within the veil—if she did go in, she is as alive and well now as she was when she vanished. She wouldn't even have aged."

There was a shattering sound; Elise had dropped her cup. She buried her face in her hands and burst into tears.

Frisham tentatively put an arm around her shoulder.

"Mrs. Schneider?" she asked quietly. "Are you all right? Do-do you want us to go for a bit? I understand it's been a bit much—"

She sagged back, shocked, as Elise launched herself up from the armchair and wrapped Draco in her arms.

"Thank you," she sobbed. "Thank you—do you know what it's been, these last _fifty_ years without my daughter? Every day I expect her to come walking through the door—every day I cast the spell and dread that it won't show me what I'm praying to see. And to know—to know what might have happened, at last—" She began crying even harder, and hugged Draco tightly. He patted her on the back.

"Of course, Mrs. Schneider, these are all still only conjectures, but—wait!" he cried, tearing himself away and taking Elise by the shoulders. "There's one way I might know—have you got a photo of her taken close to her disappearance?"

Elise rustled over to the nearest shelf and took up a neatly framed photograph of a young girl with smooth wings of dark brown hair, eyes of the same shade, and a spattering of tiny freckles across her cheeks and nose. She had a sweet smile, and she was holding up what looked like a certificate with gold edging.

"That was taken right after she got her O.W.L. results," Elise explained. "Back then, getting seven or more Outstandings was much rarer, and they hadn't added all the new subjects they have now, so they gave Eva a certificate to mark the achievement."

Draco was pointing at Eva's left cheek. "That red mark!"

"Eva was born with a port-wine stain on her cheek," she explained. "It shrank to less than the size of a penny by the time she started Hogwarts, but she thought it had an ugly shape. Girls that age, you know, a bit conscious about their looks. When she was fourteen and began studying human transfiguration, she charmed those cells to orient themselves in the shape of a flower. There's no magic that can remove port-wine stains, so she took the next-best thing. It was a difficult bit of magic, and even though I'd rather she'd let it alone, I was quite proud of the spell."

"Then I can confirm she is safe within the veil."

"How?" asked Elise, clutching at Draco again. "How do you know, for sure?"

"Because I saw her. When I told you about souls being ripped from their bodies and placed within their past shapes, I wasn't theorizing. It happened to me. I'm from two years in the future. After my soul entered the veil, I saw several people. The one that stood out most was a young woman with golden hair. Everyone there looked a bit odd, as if they weren't all there, but she looked even less all-there than the others. But I also noticed a dark-haired girl about sixteen, with brown eyes and a scarlet flower on her cheek. She was sitting with a group of men."

Elise let out a great, shuddering breath.

"I want to go to her."

"If you go to her," said Draco. "You can't come back. You would never see your other two children again."

"Then—then can you bring her out to me, Mr. Malfoy?"

"That," said Hermione softly, "is what we are trying to do. And if we find out how, we can bring your brother, as well."

Elise's eyes brimmed up again, and she mouthed her thanks at the group as she hugged each one of them in turn.

0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0

"Well, if we'd actually figured out how to summon things from behind the veil," said Hermione gloomily, "We could have had Eva back with her mother tonight." She blew on her mug of tea and tucked her left foot beneath her as she went through her massive pile of notes. She and Draco had gone straight to her flat after they had left Elise's house in Godric's Hollow, while Charlie and Frisham had gone to have tea and scones with Percy and the twins at the Burrow. Ron, on the other hand, had tunneled off to Grimmauld Place to eat an early supper with Harry and Ginny and regale them with the revelations of the day.

"And Luna back with hers, too," Draco reminded her. Hermione sighed.

"Why does such a terrible thing as the veil exist, Draco?"

"Terrible?" asked Draco mildly. "Didn't it save Fritz Rosenbaum's life?"

Hermione stopped short at the mention of Fritz Rosenbaum and put her fingers to her mouth.

"Time," she muttered, running her fingers through her bushy hair. "It changes differently under different circumstances. This started out as a project to stop you from taking that vow to complete the work, but look what it's become."

"I don't quite follow," said Draco. "What does that have to do with time and how it changes?"

"You can travel in time without changing it—Harry and I proved that in our third year when we set Sirius and Buckbeak free. You can travel in time by making an alternate reality—that's what happened to you, and probably to Gaius Scrimgeour as well. You arrived here before we did, and in that interval, this universe diverged from the one we came from. It just split. And when Frisham and I came, our old one just ceased to exist."

"So, in effect, we killed all the children that were conceived after the day you returned to?" asked Draco, suddenly turning green. "You _never_ told me that you destroyed our old universe. Hermione, what were you thinking? Look at me—" for she had averted her gaze—"If you told Mrs. Weasley that her children were going to be taken from her and she would be obliviated of their existence and returned to her twenty-year-old self, what do you think she'd have done? She'd have throttled you on the spot! How could you have done that just for one person?"

"Stop shouting," snapped Hermione. "And anyway, I didn't kill anyone. The Potters owed your mother a life debt that had to be fulfilled."

"You could have saved her life in lieu of mine in future," Draco shot back.

"She performed the act that incurred the debt for your sake," said Hermione wearily. "That means that the payment must be for your sake, as well. You do know what happens to souls that fail to fulfill a life debt, don't you? They spend a year and a day in turmoil."

"Like you'd know that for sure."

"I—"

"And anyway," said Draco shrewdly. "Harry himself owes the debt. Not Ginny, not Albus, not James. Only Harry. And from what I know of debts, the consequences for not fulfilling one arise only when the recipient of the service intentionally refuses to perform the act of recompense. You told me that before you discovered my body no longer housed my soul, Harry and Ginny had offered their home as a safe space to care for me and provided the healers with everything they needed. It wasn't their fault that Harry couldn't fulfill it. In that universe, he no longer owes it. You didn't do it because of them passing off the debt. You did it because you wanted to."

"Souls, as you should know, are eternal, and entirely independent of the body that they happen to be in. Even if a particular genetic combination didn't result as far as me exterminating all the children goes, the same soul would have attached itself to another. I didn't kill anyone, or stop any souls from taking shape in human form."

"But to undo two entire years? You _wanted_ to save me."

"I didn't think I could forgive myself if there was something I could do, even if it was the maddest thing in the world." whispered Hermione.

"You wanted to, then," said Draco. His voice was still tinged with shock, but for a moment, Hermione thought she had detected a tiny twinge of satisfaction in it. Puzzled, she looked at him, but the momentary light in Draco's eyes had vanished, and he had returned to his usual cool self.

"And so what if I did?" she retorted. "You're my friend. I'd have done the same if it were Harry, or Ron, or Ginny."

"I know," said Draco, favoring her with a rare soft smile, completely devoid of his commonplace archness. He took her hand and squeezed it gently. "And if we can free the people who've been trapped behind the veil, your coming will be the best thing that could have happened. After your brilliant mind, of course," he laughed. "Thank you, Hermione."

"Oh, sod off, you prat," laughed Hermione, flicking a tea rusk at him over the rim of her mug. "Don't push it."

* * *

And there we have it! The very first hint of Dramione :) I've been wondering how I could work the romance into the story, and this seemed as good a time as any.


	8. Chapter 8

After leaving Hermione's flat that evening, Draco found himself wandering the streets of London, carried aimlessly along with the crowd. As the night grew darker and darker, fewer passersby buffeted him on the sidewalks, and soon Draco slowed to a stop outside a specialty-foods store and considered the events of the evening. At first, he _had_ been angry that she had gone so far as to obliterate two years of human history, but he had regretted his anger at once when he had seen hurt and determination flit across Hermione's face and disappear just as quickly. It was then that the unthinkable had happened—the sight of her stubbornness had warmed his heart. It had _gladdened_ him that she was willing to go to such extreme lengths to save his life. But it had given him a strange, piercing pain to know she had risked her own in the process. Both feelings, one after another, had confused him immensely—after all, he thought, she had effectively sacrificed hundreds of lives for his—ought he not to challenge her reasoning on it? To his astonishment, he found that he was unable to…and so, he was roaming the roads and by-ways, his heart filled with a swelling that was half an ethereal joy and half an odd, needling ache.

"What's the matter with me?" he mumbled, sitting down heavily on a bench.

"Looking for someone?" came a familiar voice. Draco looked up sharply to see Harry coming out of the specialty foods store, laden with packages.

"Potter?" asked Draco in disbelief. "What on earth are you doing here in the middle of Muggle London?"

"I could ask you the same, but isn't really Muggle London," said Harry. "The back half of the shop opens into Diagon Alley, and the front is in the Muggle side of town. It's managed by a Muggle-born witch and her husband, who's non-magical. They offer specialty foods that have magical alterations—their dietary supplements and 'exotic grains' really do help your metabolism, digestion, hair quality, energy or whatever they're supposed to be for. The shop's pretty popular with Muggles. I came here to pick up the vitamins Ginny needs and some metabolism-boosting strawberry tarts."

" _Metabolism-boosting strawberry tarts?_ "

"Her metabolism was horrible when she was pregnant with James," Harry replied. "It probably has something to do with her going from strenuous exercise while she was playing to only the exercises that her healer recommended. We found these last time, and I thought I'd pick them up because she's starting to get tired again. "

"Ouch," Draco winced. "If I were you, Potter, I'd be down on my knees thanking my wife for putting up with that long enough to bring a kid into the world."

"I know. I brought her other things she likes, too—it'll be a surprise for breakfast tomorrow."

"Won't she notice if you come back this late with all this stuff?" asked Draco.

"She asked Flippy to prepare a sleeping tonic for her, so she could finally get some rest. She won't wake until eight tomorrow morning at the earliest."

"I'll bet Flippy's over the moon," said Draco wryly.

"Yeah, he is," said Harry with a grin. "I mean, he loves playing with the baby, but not doing any real work gets on his nerves. Now that Ginny actually needs him to cook and clean and bring her strange foods and take care of James, he couldn't be happier about it. He won't even let me help. But enough about that—what are you doing here? I thought you went to Hermione's."

"Well, that was hours ago. Anyway, I left."

"I see that," said Harry thoughtfully, sitting down beside Draco. "What are you really doing out here?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean, what's troubling you?"

"It's nothing."

Harry gave Draco an unimpressed look.

"Fine! I was angry at Hermione, and then I was sorry for being angry, and then I felt privileged that she did this whole coming back in time thing for my sake, and then I was terrified that she put herself in danger in the process, and then I felt this weird feeling. And then I left her house, saying that I had to eat dinner with my mother and that it's my parents' 24th wedding anniversary—which it is not—and then I just started wandering aimlessly around town. And now I'm here."

"Very illuminating," commented Harry, smirking.

"Stuff it, Potter," snapped Draco.

"So how long have you had feelings for Hermione?"

"Since back when—what? I don't! We're just friends now! And I hated her until I was seventeen! You're off your rocker, Pocker! I mean, Potter!" ranted Draco, turning a brilliant shade of maroon. Harry recalled with some interest that it was the same color that the Weasley men turned whenever they were embarrassed.

" _Right,_ " Harry drawled, in a passable imitation of Draco himself. "You just said 'back when." Why do you think I asked how long you've had them rather than asking if you do? It's painfully obvious, Malfoy. You have feelings for Hermione Granger. I won't question why. You've had two years of working with her that I don't know anything about. You're the only ones—well, besides Posy Frisham—who remember that future time. It's only natural that if you were to fall for anyone, it would be her. Posy was clearly more than friends with Charlie in your future, so that only leaves Mione."

"I…hadn't really thought about it that way before," admitted Draco.

"What are you going to do about it?"

"What _can_ I do?" asked Draco, waving his arms about. "The entire clan of Weasleys can hardly let me stand in the same room with her without wanting to rip my ears off."

"It's not as if Mione hasn't got a temper to match Molly's," remarked Harry. "She doesn't much like it whenever someone tells her what to do. In fact, the only people besides her parents that she'll take that from are Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and _occasionally_ me. She doesn't even listen to Ron, most of the time."

"Well, I suppose that she knows more than anyone except the members of the elder generation. And Weasley's a bit impulsive. All of them are."

"I can't fault you there. But honestly, you're overthinking this. You've already won over Percy, Bill, Charlie, and Ron—I was watching them when you told us you'd come back in time. And you've charmed most of the women, too—I doubt any other man can be so attentive to a group of children who pull his hair because they think it looks like unicorn fur."

"What?" asked Draco, unsure if he had heard Harry right.

"Bill asked Vic if she liked you after that day, and she replied that she and Teddy thought your hair looked just like a unicorn's fur. Fleur and Anais were enchanted when they realized what you'd put up with for three hours. But enough of that—I suggest you go home, just sleep on it, and figure out what to do later on. It's nearly eleven."

"I'll just head back to the manor, then," mused Draco.

"On that note, do your parents know what's happened?"

"About my soul getting sucked through the veil and hurled back in time? No, and I'm not foolish enough to tell them. My mother would have an unbreakable body-bind on me faster than you could say Quidditch."

"What have you told then about having to work so long with Ron and Hermione?"

"Again, I've said nothing. My mother wouldn't question me working with Hermione because we do work in the same department, and Mother doesn't know that we're in different divisions. She might even give credence to my working with Weasley for some inter-departmental cooperation, On the other hand, Father knows all the details about my position. He _might_ not be suspicious about Hermione, but he'd draw the line at Ron."

"All right—well, take care that they don't find out then. I'll see you soon, Malfoy." With that, Harry turned on his heel and disappeared.

Draco exhaled heavily and followed suit.

When he shook off the momentary headache he always had just after Apparating, he looked around in surprise. He had meant to Apparate just outside Malfoy Manor, but he had appeared below the pretty complex of small flats where Hermione's apartment was. He had never seen the outside of the neighborhood before; he had only ever visited the flat by side-along Apparition before. The ground-floor flats were surrounded by tiny gardens, but the upper-floor flats were alive with washes of color as well—marigolds growing in hanging pots, climbing jasmine and passionflower vines wreathing around the windows, tiny pink tea-roses and daisies in wooden boxes nailed around the balustrades. The complex was filled with people who loved their homes, miniscule though they were in comparison to the dwellings Draco was accustomed to visiting. The thought dulled him somewhat as he recalled the ornate grandfather clocks, gold inlay, and carved French chaises and couches that filled Malfoy Manor. Beautiful though it was, it had never truly felt like home to him.

All at once, another memory came rushing back to him—a memory of himself from only two weeks previously, scarfing down chilli, noodles, and garlic toast at Grimmauld Place, reading story after story to the various Weasley tots, sitting beside Hermione talking over orange soda, 44

 _"_ _Are you fond of cream teas?"_

 _"_ _I like scones well enough, but I've never been able to stomach clotted cream. I prefer not to drink tea with sweet things, too. Call it weird, but I like sweet milk coffee instead."_

 _"_ _Well, then, what would you say to a cream tea with coffee instead of tea and whipped cream instead of clotted?"_

 _"_ _That would be lovely."_

Hobnobbing with Hermione had somehow felt like home—somehow, he had been entirely at peace around her, even though they were dealing with a problem that might sunder hundreds of families over time if left unsolved.

It was then that a window clattered open and a scream rent the night. Draco looked upward in alarm—the window he knew to be the one in Hermione's living room had been opened, and he could dimly discern a mane of bushy brown hair in the lamplight.

"Hermione!" he shouted. "Hermione, it's Draco! Are you all right!"

"Draco!" came the relieved answer. "I—I think you'd better come up here. Now."

Draco Appparated straight into Hermione's flat and ran down the short hallway into her living room. He dashed to her side and clutched her arm tightly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No—no—but look there—"

Hermione pointed into the kitchen with a shaking finger. Draco felt his jaw drop.

There beneath the wreckage of the dining table was an unconscious man.


	9. Chapter 9

First of all, I apologize for the insanely long time it's taken for me to update. I'm in college now, and midterms and homework and projects are sad. Sad. There's no other word for it. But it's September now!

Autumn! Isn't it a wonderful time of year? Usually, late September is when I bring my fluffy pink comforters out of the closets and make cinnamon-maple cocoa on Sundays. However, it's above 80 degrees in both Berkeley and Fremont, and I can't even muster the stamina to stand over the stove long enough to make hot chocolate. It's just global warming wrecking my plans again. Honestly, fellows and damsels! Save the environment! Reduce your carbon footprint! This author is in dire need of her cocoa!

* * *

"Who is he?" asked Draco, nonplussed. The man's build seemed slightly familiar, but there wasn't much he could discern—Hermione's impromptu visitor was lying flat on his face.

"It's Nicholson!"

" _Nicholson?_ " Draco's jaw dropped. "You—you mean _our_ Nicholson? The head of department from _our_ time?"

In answer, Hermione pointed to Nicholson's right forearm. "It has to be. Look, it's the ladybug tattoo he got after he drank two bottles of Firewhiskey at your team welcoming party. The 2001 Nicholson hasn't got it." She ran a hand over her hair. "This throws a _serious_ wrench in my time-travelling theory. If he came back after we did, it means that our old universe still exists."

"And that's a bad thing?" asked Draco wryly.

"No, it's not, but it means that you and I—and Frisham, too—just vanished from our lives. Oh, God—Frisham's parents will be frantic! And Charlie! And Mum, and Dad! And your parents! What have we _done?_ " Hermione dropped to her knees and began shaking Nicholson with all her might. "Nicholson! Wake up!"

Nicholson groaned heavily and made as if to roll over. "Granger? Is that the 2003 Granger, or the other one?"

"It's me, Nicholson—how on earth did you get here?"

"You'd better sit down," said Nicholson, finally managing to heave himself into an upright position. Draco offered the man his shoulder, but Nicholson shook his head and dragged himself over to the sofa. He was covered with small cuts and bruises, presumably from crashing through Hermione's glass table.

Draco went off to the medicine cabinet where (he presumed) Hermione would have a bottle of dittany, and she took a seat in front of Nicholson and posed a single question.

"What happened?" she asked.

"Well, you didn't turn up for work on Monday," explained Nicholson, "so I went to your flat to see if you were all right. I thought you might take Friday off, what with Malfoy's soul gone, but I wasn't expecting you to miss Monday, too. So I came round to your neighborhood. And do you know what I found there?"

Hermione bit her lip, expecting that he might have seen her unmoving body and Frisham's abandoned in her living room, soulless and barely alive.

"I found you and Frisham sitting in your kitchen, with the _entire_ Weasley clan around you, trying to convince you that this was the year 2003. You girls both looked a mess, if you'll pardon my saying so. Of course, I knew what had happened right away. If it were only you, I thought the shock of losing your chum might have done it, but Malfoy and Frisham were never close, and she seemed to have lost all sense of reason, too. Kept on insisting that she didn't even _know_ Charlie Weasley, and gaping at Potter's second son as if she'd never seen him before."

" _What?"_ gasped Hermione.

"I could feel the vestiges of some powerful spell in your living room. I was going to ask what had happened to you when Charlie left the kitchen; I suppose he couldn't bear to see Frisham looking at him as if he was a stranger. I followed him to ask him what the ruddy hell was going on, and I tripped over a rune book on the floor. I put out my hands to steady myself on the corner wall, next to your bookcase—and the next thing I know, I'm falling out of the ceiling and straight through that bloody glass table of yours."

"And nobody else felt the magical residue?"

"Didn't look like it. You know that women are more sensitive to magical imprints, and not one of them seemed to notice anything off."

"So our past selves are stuck in our future," said Hermione, with a mirthless laugh.

"That isn't all. Just after I was whisked away and before I landed, I think I saw Mal-Malfoy!" cried Nicholson, springing up from the cough with a sudden spurt of energy. "It's good to see you, mate!" He banged Draco on the back and succeeded in knocking the bottle of dittany to the floor.

" _Nicholson!_ " said Draco. "Now see what you've done."

"Merlin, we'd thought—wait. What are _you_ doing here?" Nicholson eyed Draco up and down.

"He's our Draco," Hermione interrupted.

Nicholson finally appeared to be lost for speech. He parted his lips a few times, closed them again.

"Has his past self ended up there?" asked Hermione.

"Not that I know. It wouldn't be any danger if he did, though—he's still got a body."

Hermione frowned.

"But the Clementina Institute released his body to his parents for-well, a funeral," she said, casting a worried glance at Draco, who sank into his seat and closed his eyes.

"Yeah, they did. But Mrs. Malfoy said she feels that his soul still sxists, It was all over the news," he added. "His body is still being sustained at Clementina—after all, nobody there can be sure his soul won't just come back. After all, they've no proof that it was destroyed. Clementina will hold him for at least a year, and if he's not back by then they'll discuss the options with the Malfoys."

"What options are there?" asked Draco fearfully.

"Well, there's always the option of…releasing you. Don't worry!" he cried hastily, as Draco half-rose from his seat. "The healers on your case said that you're not exhibiting the same symptoms of someone subjected to the Kiss, and that's enough for your mother. She'd die before she closed the avenue for you to come back, because if you do, you'll need a body to go back to."

"And?" pressed Hermione.

"They can send his body to America, to the Greater Harvard Academy, and have them keep him in stasis, as it is."

"Stasis?"

"As he is now, he's aging. If it takes years for him to come back, he'll wake up in a body that's aged and atrophied. Clementina hasn't got the magical technology to prevent atrophy for extended period of time."

"All right, then," said Draco, relaxing into his chair.

Hermione looked almost as if she had not heard; she had risen from her place and had wandered over to her bookcases, running a finger along the spines of the various novels with a pensive look on her face. She frowned, as if she had realized something upsetting.

The moment Nicholson had materialized in her kitchen, she understood that his arrival had not been the work of some sort of magical residue; he had arrived because she had disrupted the very fabric of space and time itself. That delicate fabric could likely take the odd person coming through the veil or using a time-turner to traverse a few hours back—but she and Frisham had departed their world and entered their past lives without the aid of a veil or a time-turner. She ought to have realized that Malfoy's experience with merging with his past self would not match hers of waking up in her 2001 body; he had been banished back through the veil, and she had not.

And had she thought a little more, she would have realized that her own soul, the soul that had lived in this younger body before she entered it again, could not be thrown aside like an old glove. Like the bit of Voldemort's soul that had latched onto Harry's so long ago, her own past soul must have sought a body of its own. Unable to co-exist with her future soul in the same vessel, it had likely fled through the closing channel to Hermione's own time, taking refuge in the future body lying abandoned beside Frisham's in her flat. Frisham's own past spirit must have done the same, and the double disjunct of their arrivals back in 2003 could have been enough to pull Nicholson back, as well.

"Why Nicholson?" asked Draco, interrupting her thoughts. "Why didn't it pull your past selves back through a second time, or one of the Weasleys? Or Potter?"

"The accident," said Hermione. "We were all caught in the blast when you were dragged through the Veil in the Department of Mysteries. It must have—must have left something on us, something that made us more vulnerable to its magic. That's why nothing affected anyone until Nicholson came in."

"You've destabilized the universe itself, Granger," grunted Nicholson. "My coming only made it worse. I doubt I'll be the last—I didn't even end up in my past body. Have you two found out anything while you've been here?"

"I have a better question," said Draco. "Have _you_ any idea what's happened to my soul? The one that belongs in this time?"

"You've got them both, haven't you?" asked Hermione.

"If you can't perceive it any longer, it means that the two have truly merged," said Nicholson. "Your own soul was so little changed from the past one that it wouldn't have caused one of them to try and take over your body. They are one now."

"But there are two bodies, and only one soul," protested Draco. "What's going to happen in the future?"

"I don't know."

The next morning, Hermione was rudely awakened by Draco shaking her by the shoulders. She swatted him away irritably and shot him a look.

"What?"

"Wake up! We've been called into the office. It's an emergency. Something's wrong with the Veil."

Hermione rolled upright so quickly that she nearly lost her balance. Springing off the bed, she laid out her work robes on the sheets and flicked her wand once; in an instant, her nightgown lay neatly folded on the dresser and she was fully garbed in her black Unspeakables' uniform. Draco followed suit, and they thundered down the short flight of stairs to find Nicholson downing a gin and tonic in the kitchen.

"Where did you get that? Hermione doesn't even keep Firewhisky in her apartment," said Draco. "Can I have one?"

"No," barked Nicholson. "You two are going. I'm staying here. If I walked in to the meeting right now, I'd cause a panic. You're forgetting that there are two of me."

"Where's the owl that delivered the note?" asked Hermione. Draco pointed to the windowsill, where Unspeakable Kapworth's barn owl had perched.

Snatching up the little scroll lying on her newly-mended table, Hermione scanned the short letter.

 _Granger,_

 _The veil's beginning to shimmer and the night watch has seen something inside. Get to headquarters now._

 _Kapworth_

"This didn't happen last time," said Hermione, turning urgently to the two men.

"They need you," urged Nicholson, who looked nearly as worried as Hermione felt. "You can tell them what's happened and what you've done. You know we've been prepared for something like this for yours. There are procedures—procedures in place for this sort of thing, even though they've never been used in living memory."

"All right, then. Draco, grab hold of my arm. I'll Apparate us." Draco came swiftly to her side and wrapped his long fingers around her wrist. Before she Apparated, he cast her an anxious glance.

"What do you think will happen?"

"I can only hope those procedures actually do some good," said Hermione, before she spun on the spot and dragged them both into darkness.


End file.
